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fligniuz · 3 months ago

Text

oh baby

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ your cute tutor cheers you up after a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

word count: 5.2k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw • read on ao3

tag list : @mangionebabymama , @mangobabygirl , @jenisaswift13 , @mangionesdaisy , @iinfinitelimits , @daydreamingwithluigi , @nephris , @mashkatzi , @straw8berry

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; hurt/comfort; oral (f! receiving); L-bombs; very fluffy :-)

notes : title frommmmmm:

It’s already been a long, long day, and it’s barely even started.

Your breakfast this morning was practically nonexistent—just an apple and a water bottle from the communal kitchen, grabbed in a hurry on your way out the door. No time for something more substantial. You woke up late. Again.

You seem to do that a lot.

In your defense, it’s hard to get up on time when you spend most of your waking hours thinking, pacing, waiting, forgetting. Rinse and repeat. You are not often at peace, and even the natural rise and fall of the sun each day fails to end your cycle of self-appointed misery. Your mind is an endless doomscroll; one long, rambling, borderline nonsensical mash of worry, regret, and the occasional funnies, complete with absolutely no paragraph breaks or accurate reflections of reality to spare. Relentless. Hateful. This is what getting unlucky in the brain department earns you: a lifetime of fret and insecurity, only slightly helped by daily pills that you work what feels like endless hours to be able to afford.

So, you don’t sleep well, nor do you wake well.

And about that work thing…you struggle to do that well, too. But can you really be blamed when a degree and a hopefully better job are also part of the equation? Can you really be blamed if you spent the past two weeks on a paper your professor will look over maybe a few times and never think about again, all for an imaginary number of credits to be added to a total of more imaginary numbers that will ultimately grant you a piece of sturdy paper with your name and a fancy new qualification? At times the days you spend working towards goals on a checklist just feel pointless, because some sixty or so years from now—and let’s be honest, the outlook re: The Climate Thing is much too grim to allow you even the promise of an average lifespan—you’ll be six feet underground, or one with the elements, or fucking compost (thanks technology!), depending on whatever the hell you’re going to write in your will.

Nothing matters, and yet everything does. And everything is connected; you’ve got bills to pay, because you’ve got student loans to pay, because you’ve got to get a nice degree and a steady job to make it in this greedy, fetid, embarrassing nightmare you call a homeland. And even then, even later in your life when you’ll be older and wiser and stronger than now, with a complete education and a likely less than perfect career, there will still be bills to pay. Probably student loans, too. This fucking country.

In your defense—you’re feeling real defensive today, aren’t you?—life is just too fucking much. Right now, yesterday, tomorrow, and the day after. You’re tired, and hungry, and sad, but late stage capitalism doesn’t care about your feelings, and so you stroll into work just barely in time for your shift. Your boring, boring shift, at your boring job, so you can make some boring money. Only to go home to a boring apartment that always feels empty, even with friends inside. When you carry loneliness with you it never ever wants to leave.

You need a cuddle. Or a fuck. Or both. And you know just the guy to call��if his roommates won’t be around, that is. It’s likely that they won’t. Frat boys are always busy doing frat boy things.

Not your tutor, though. Luigi is never too busy for you.

The moment the clock strikes 6:00 you’re filing out of the building like there’s a fire drill.

And fuck. It’s fucking raining. Guess who didn’t bring an umbrella?

This day just keeps getting worse.

You decide against surprising Luigi and find his number in your recents, and he picks up halfway through the second ring.

“Hello, Padawan.”

You roll your eyes. “Ugh. Don’t start with that. Are you home? What are you doing?”

“Well, the answer to your first question is yeah, and as for the second question…guess!”

Fucking Luigi. “I’m not doing that. If you’re not busy I’m coming over. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says without a hint of hesitation. “Are you bringing that attitude with you? Actually, never mind, I like you grumpy. But don’t expect to get any real learning done, because it’s hard to focus on being angry and doing math at the—”

You hang up on him before he can finish that thought and throw your hood over your head, making your way to the bus station.

The ride takes a little longer than you’d hoped with the after work traffic, but you pass the time with your headphones and the raindrops on your window, watching them trickle down, down, down. You start betting on which droplet will beat the other to the windowsill just a few minutes before you’re back on campus, dredging through the weather and finding yourself in front of his dorm. It’s only then that you can feel the adrenaline and stress and exhaustion all pumping through you at once.

Luigi greets you with the cutest curls and a warm smile.

“Hiya, mopey. Forget an umbrella?”

When you kiss him he seems to jump inside his skin before he melts into you, hands capturing your face to hold your mouth steady and at pace with his. He hadn’t expected you to be jumping his bones after showing up so suddenly, but when he feels you start to cry he’s second-guessing your visit altogether, eyebrows raising in alarm.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks, cautious, tentative. You bury your face into his chest and sniffle.

You whimper, “I had a really bad day.”

Oh. His heart surges at that, sparking something protective, almost fraternal, and right then he wants to hold you tight and never let go. He wants to bundle you up in his warmest blanket and bring you sweets, kiss your little face and rub your back and tell you that he’s here, right here, waiting for you whenever you need him.

“My sweet girl,” he coos, petting your hair. “Is that why you came to see me?”

Nodding, you wrap your arms tight around him, feeling the weight of all your worry already starting to meld into the void of space around your entwined bodies. It’s a little embarrassing to admit that he’s this much of a comfort to you, but Luigi doesn’t laugh or scorn you; he welcomes you into his embrace like he’s been waiting all day for you.

“Well, would you like to hear some good news?” he asks, looking down at you. You raise an eyebrow, utter a little mm?

Luigi smiles, soft but tainted with something impure. He tilts your chin up with one finger, announcing, “I can think of quite a few ways to cheer you up.”

Of course he can. Why else would you be here?

“I’d like that,” you say, kissing him again. Need bubbles up in your psyche, fizzing, waves crashing over rocks on the coast. You think you’d much sooner swallow barbed wire than be forced to forget the feeling of his hands on you, holding you close, searching the most private corners of you.

“Yeah, baby? You want me to take care of you?”

Fuck. You’ve never gone from defeated to horny so quickly but it’s a new experience you’ll gladly be marking under the Hottest Things Ever Done to Me tab in your brain. Luigi knows you so well, knows just what you need to hear after such a nerve-wracking past few weeks. Knows just how to let his lips linger on yours to make you chase him. Through the haze of such sudden arousal you aren’t entirely sure you’re moving much at all, but you sense your adamant nodding and his responsive giggle distantly.

He’s picking you up, then, carrying you to his bedroom while you mouth at his wide neck, making sure to leave marks he’ll have to cover later. Before you know it you’re laid down beneath him, his hips fitted between your thighs and your hands tangled in his hair. When his growing erection presses against your clothed sex your clit throbs and you mewl into his mouth. The friction his body creates with yours is fucking delicious.

“Shh, ‘s okay, sugar,” Luigi murmurs, propped up on his elbow so that he’s hovering right over you. “You worked so hard today. It was shitty and you hated it but you worked so hard and now I’m going to make it allll better, yeah? Gonna take good care of you, baby.”

All you can manage is please, please, please, fingernails piercing his bicep.

You still have your jacket on, and so he helps work the zipper down and slides it off your shoulders. For a while he just kisses you, hands roaming: drawing shapes with his long fingers on your back, your flanks, the inner thigh, the curve of your breast through your shirt. You sigh and run your fingers through his curls, basking in the warmth of his affection. It’s a relief that only his presence can provide you, a unique kind of respite—Luigi always takes his time with you when he can, both when he helps you with your homework and when he’s alone with you, teaching you the ins and outs of this intimate, loving, endlessly fulfilling side of him. And to know that only you get to learn about him this intensely, this hands-on; to know that only you get to feel his touch and hear the noises he makes when you tug on his curls; to know that you are his only student that he’s ever connected with like this drives you mad, makes you feel accomplished. It’s a proud and well-earned victory. Your own little slice of heaven. For your eyes only.

Kissing him is nice, grounding, even, but it’s not enough to settle the pressure building up in your stomach and so you buck your hips and moan into his mouth, needy and high-pitched. Luigi brings his hands to the front of your jeans, popping open a button, then your fly, and then tugging them down your hips. He dips into your panties, grazes your throbbing clit, and feels through your folds, collecting your arousal on his fingers.

“You’re so wet I can already taste it,” he groans against your mouth.

The thought of him tasting is more than enough to have you writhing beneath him. You try to push up into his hand, craving more of his touch, more of his fingers on you, inside of you, but he pulls his hand away just as quickly as it found you. “Not yet,” he whispers to you. “Not yet, bella.”

Bella. Pretty. You feel like your brain is melting, like it’s seeping directly out of your cunt.

Patience is perhaps most virtuous to your tutor. He has emphasized as much to you many, many times, often to your frustration. But his assurances have always been based in the pure goodness of his heart; quality time is most valuable to him, especially when he’s with you. You seldom appreciate his stalling—but you lack his innate enjoyment of building you up, feeling you quiver with arousal, exploring every crevice and nook of you and avoiding your neediest spots until he, too, has to consider his own appeasement. It’s simple: Luigi knows that anticipation is crucial to satisfaction. A dog is only allowed his meal with his owner’s approval. A man, no matter how famished, must exercise the art of waiting with respect, make peace with its inevitability. Much like most humans, you are a slave to your own desires; but he is teaching you, slowly, to make do with not enough, to take what he gives you, each tease of his tongue or teeth against skin. He has always been a minimalist. It pays off exceptionally in all other areas of his life, but it seems to have shaped an ignorance inside him towards your philosophy that time is of the essence.

“Luigi,” you mewl, grabbing his hair roughly. He has to pretend to not love it, you can tell.

“What is it you need, sweet girl?” Luigi asks. “Use your words.”

“I want—” you start, but you trail off, losing your confidence when you catch his stare. He has tried continually to teach you how to find your own voice, how to ask for what you want, if not just because he believes it to be a valuable skill then for the simple fact that he loves when you’re direct with him, when you tell him exactly how you want him to touch you. He must have no idea how difficult it is to be so frank when your tutor is this ravishing.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, baby.”

Fuck. He has to know what he’s doing to you.

You breathe in. “I want your mouth on me,” you whisper, adding, “and your fingers inside.”

Luigi fucking grins, all teeth and glowing pride. “Good girl. Wasn’t that easy?”

Rolling your eyes would be your go-to response here, but he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and all you can do is moan in relief as he starts to peel them off of you. With your leg over his shoulder, he leans forward to snatch one of the pillows behind your head, towering over you—and then he lifts your hips and wedges it under your ass, so that he has you at an angle he can experiment with (and, presumably, so that he doesn’t strain his neck too much. Nifty.) He kisses your ankle, then down to your knee, and then he’s shifting so that he’s laying on his stomach with his head between your thighs, just what you’ve been remissly lacking for the past week or so of nonstop responsibility. Just what you needed. He would never lie to you.

And then his fingers brush against your cunt. Two digits explore ridges and slick lips and spread you apart, trying not to pay too much attention to your clit—he hasn’t even started yet, after all. You think he almost looks like he’s working on one of his robots, playing with your most sensitive parts, assessing the situation and planning solutions in his head. Always methodical. He’s so close to you and you’re so turned on and you start to feel a little insecure with him so focused on you, but then he breathes, “you smell fucking perfect,” and suddenly your mind is spinning too fast to even think of things to worry about.

His kisses move to your thighs, then, and his hands settle on your hips, squeezing, reassuring. Lips and tongue embrace plush skin, leaving blooming bursts of purple and red underneath, marks that you will undoubtedly be tracing with your fingers in more private times, by yourself, when you can’t help but think of his flawless mouth all over again. He comes so close to where you want him, just centimeters away, and then is right back to where he started, kissing your inner thigh. You thread your fingers in his hair, nails scratching his scalp. He sinks his teeth into a particularly sensitive patch of flesh and you keen.

“You needed this bad, didn’t you, baby?” Luigi coos, circling his thumb over your hip.

You’re sobbing. “Yes, fuck, please, I need it, please!”

He bites again, this time your other thigh, a subtle but motivating commendation for using your words. “Shh. I’ve got you, bella.”

With his two fingers spreading you he leans forward, fixing his eyes on yours, and then flattens his tongue and licks you firmly from your hole all the way up to your clit. It’s warm and wet and the most perfect thing after god knows how long of neglecting your poor pussy. The tip of his tongue tweaks you, working back and forth over your clit before he moves further down, plunging into your entrance just barely.

“Gi,” you gasp. Your hand is still in his hair, grasping tight.

Luigi eats pussy like it’s his favorite thing in the world. And with you, it probably is; his enthusiasm certainly says as much, his lips leaving not an inch of you untouched. He licks you all over, up and down your slit, your labia, that little portion of sensitive skin between your cunt and your asshole—but he keeps his attention to your clit mild for now, soft, just kitten licks and occasional brushes of his stubble. With the angle you’re in right now, his tongue probing you and lavishing the grooves of you with attention, his nose grazes your clit every so often and it feels perfect and you need more of it soon. The hand in his hair holds his head steady so that you can grind your hips over his mouth, and when you move like this his nose strokes your clit just right, so you do it again and again and again.

“Good girl,” he pulls away to praise (and breathe), his big hands gripping your hips. “Take what you need, baby.”

He lets you just use his face like this for quite a few minutes, sticking out his tongue, groaning as he drinks in you. And when Luigi thinks you’ve had enough of a fill he holds your hips still with both hands and then begins to lick at you again, this time drawing nearer to where you want him the most. With saliva he wets his tongue and presses the middle of it against your clit, using firm pressure to stimulate you, and then with his hands still keeping you steady he starts to shake his head, side to side motions on your clit, practically motorboating your cunt. It drives you fucking wild. The vibrations that ring through you each time he moans into your heat send white-hot pleasure through your nerves, a feeling deep in your core that only Luigi has ever been able to stir up in you.

“Fuck,” you hiss, back arching and toes curling. “Oh my god, that’s so good, fuck, that’s so good—”

You reward him with your words and your fingers raking against his scalp and he takes it selfishly, rejoicing in how good he knows he can make you feel. He keeps up his movements, tongue still working over your clit; when he sneaks a look at you above him he sees you sliding your hand underneath your tank-top, grasping one of your breasts under your bra and pinching your nipple, and right then he swears he could eat you alive. He wants to taste every single surface of you that his mouth can reach, memorize all the little things that make you tick, make you tug his hair or cry out for him in that breathy, raring voice that he loves so much. The sound of his name in your mouth is almost enough to have him finishing right here, in his khakis, with his head between your thighs while he laps away at your sweet cunt.

With you all worked up and bothered under his touch Luigi decides you’re more than ready to come all over his tongue. He tries one of his best moves—with his jaw stretched he seals his mouth over your pussy, like he’s kissing you, and when his lips reach your clit he sucks, quickly, relishing in your squeal. You’re plenty wet enough for his fingers, too, so he teases the opening of your cunt with his thumb, pressing inside, just to feel how you stretch around it; at your whine he guides one finger into your hole, then another, working them deep inside of you. They’re long and much quicker and more filling than yours have ever been and you almost wish that the world around you was meaningless, that only you and him could matter—that you and him could simply forget about your jobs and schoolwork and all the heavy demands of life and spend your time just like this, with him bobbing his head up and down just slightly as he sucks on your clit and opens you up with his fingers.

“Gi, I can’t, s’ good, I need to come,” you plead, biting down on your bottom lip. “I can’t hold it.”

Over the sound of your heart beating hard in your ears you almost miss his quick, reassuring response:

“You don’t have to, sugar. I want you to come for me.”

So you do, legs trembling, hips stuttering against his face. Luigi helps you ride it out, still licking you gently by the time you’re beckoning him up to you for some kisses. But he just smirks, stroking soothing circles into your hip, whispering heavy praise to you: “My good girl,” and “There she is,” and “You look so gorgeous when you come.” At your whines he presses open-mouthed kisses to your thighs, sucks with his lips until you’re splotched with fresh, vibrant red between your legs. Marks for his eyes only. Just the thought of it makes his cock jump in his shorts.

For a moment you lay back and watch the ceiling, enjoying the feeling of his tongue and lips claiming purchase wherever he sees fit. And you stir from your post-coital bliss at the sound of his voice again:

“Babygirl,” he starts, licking the crease between your pelvis and your thigh. “Maybe you weren’t planning on it, but you’ve convinced me that I want to taste you again. If you’ll let me. Is that okay with you?”

You laugh, exasperated. “Isn’t your mouth tired?”

Luigi shakes his head with a cheeky grin. “Never,” he breathes, lips hovering over your fluttering center. “I could do this all day, bella.”

He presses a careful kiss to your cunt as if to prove his dedication to your pleasure, giggling when you jolt, and right then you decide that you would give him the entire solar system in your hands if physics allowed for such a thing.

He means it. You’ve never been more sure.

Smiling, you murmur, “go get ‘em, buster.”

You’re still sensitive from your orgasm, so Luigi is especially cautious at first, starting again with the tip of his tongue sweeping back and forth over your clit. He starts to discover something new about you; now that he’s already made you come once, you shiver and twitch at even the slightest touches, and the fucking sounds you make are quite possibly the closest thing to paradise he has ever encountered, even after countless adventures across countless days in countless destinations. It’s almost an impossible accomplishment, he thinks—he could have never imagined that he’d find even more unexplored range in the treasure of your body.

“Oh, god, Luigi, baby, fuck…”

And you discover something new about him, too: Luigi likes it when you call him baby. He groans as you smooth your fingers through his curls and comes closer, spreading your thighs apart, licking around your entrance and then settling one hand over your pelvis, using slight pressure with his palm to pull back the hood of your clit. With you spread out for him he tilts his head to the side, so that he’s almost resting against your thigh, and then he takes as much of your clit in his mouth as he can and sucks hard, hard enough to have you clawing at his hair and trying to squeeze your thighs around him. He would gladly let you crush him—but right now he has a mission, and it’s difficult to make you come with your legs closed, so he mutters, “stay fucking still,” and dives into your cunt with an intensity that only your vibrator could possibly match. This time, with his lips sucking you tightly, he tweaks you with his tongue, stroking the shaft of your clit, and it’s too fucking much—

“Gonna come, gonna come, oh my god,” you cry. Luigi hums into you, a drawn out mhmmm rumbling through your clit, and it’s over for you, then. Your second orgasm rushes up on you quickly but he’s there to coax you through it, holding your hips steady, lips and tongue working you with unbearably arousing effort. As you breathe through the chaos of pleasure and find your senses coming back to you Luigi kisses up your body, his talented mouth embracing your tummy, your sternum, your neck, and then your mouth, softly and sweetly. He tastes entirely like you.

He must realize then that you’re still partially clothed because he practically jumps at the opportunity to fix it, helping you out of your tank-top and unclasping your bra. With your chest bare to him fully he spends some time kissing you here, too, and you lay back and let him shower you in his care, back arching off the bed each time he nears dangerously close to a nipple.

You exhale emphatically and sink back into the pillows, murmuring, “d’you wanna fuck me?”

“Shit,” Luigi groans, rolling his hips into your bare, wet cunt. “Would you let me, gorgeous? Is that okay?”

Your hand is on his cock, palming him through his khaki shorts, and you feel a fresh surge of excitement rushing through you as his jaw goes slack. You would never leave him hanging. And he knows, knows by the way you whisper, “it’d make me real happy,” nodding and biting your lip and wiggling your hips like a greedy little thing, like you didn’t just come twice from his mouth and his fingers alone. He doesn’t even bother to pull his pants off, just shuffles them down his hips along with his boxers and leaves only enough room for his dick to have full access to you.

That’s when you realize just how hard he is.

It almost looks painful, the way his cock is straining, veiny and leaking an obscene amount of pre. He’s monstrously hard for you, all from a few rounds of his tongue on your pussy, and the thought of what it must do to him to please you makes your head spin, makes you question life itself for bringing such a perfect boy into existence and allowing you to drive him mad with your body and the taste of your arousal.

Luigi hisses as he strokes himself with one hand, reaching over you towards his nightstand to grab a condom. You hardly give him enough time to roll it on before you’re wrapping your legs around his firm hips.

Dragging the tip of his cock through your slick, he proclaims, “I love taking care of you, baby.”

Good god. You love it too. You tell him so, through your words and through your wet pussy grinding against him, and when you kiss him hard and bite his lip he pushes into you, slow, unprecedented in how he fills you.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, does that feel good, sweet girl?” He’s balls deep in a matter of seconds, trying hard to be merciful, but you’re so wet and you’re squeezing him like crazy, like you never want him to leave your body. All you can do is nod and cry out as he starts to fuck you, deep and long strokes that send his cock so far you start to worry that he’s gonna break you, and that turns you on so much that you wonder how his sheets aren’t soaked with the evidence of your activities. He’s holding you down to the bed with one hand splayed over your ribs and the sound of your cunt taking him echoes throughout his room.

You’ve never been more glad to have had a shitty day, you realize.

His eyes are on you. You feel like you’re burning alive, like the whole dorm is on fire and he’s trapping you under the smoke and the flames, and you’re trying to roll on the ground but he’s holding you so tight and you’re not going anywhere.

“Gi, oh my god,” you sob.

“Yeah?” The headboard is getting noisy from all his effort. Not that it isn’t already quite loud in Luigi’s bedroom. “You deserve this, bella, you deserve to come. This is all yours.”

He’s perfect.

“Who’s dick is this, baby?”

“Oh, fuck, it’s—it’s mine—”

His thumb finds your clit, pressing down lightly, working slow circles into you. “That’s right, sugar. That’s my good girl.”

You feel a bit delirious, feverish, still sensitive from coming back-to-back, and Luigi tries with everything in him to be gentle but, alas, the hot grip of your pussy and the little sounds of struggle and pure ecstasy that you make when he pounds you are just too much for any strong-willed man to bear. Your clit is throbbing, all swollen and puffy from his ministrations, but you can’t get enough of the sensations that rock your nervous system each time he puts even the slightest pressure on you.

“Fuck,” he growls, teeth teasing your neck. “You’re being so good for me, letting me fuck you like this after taking so much.”

And he’s right, because it is quite a feat—it’s Luigi Fucking Mangione. But you love how he pushes you to your limits, how he tests you, sees how far he can go. How much you’re willing to take. He’s found that you’re certainly something to write home about.

You’re his good girl. You’d take anything he gives you, as long as it’s his.

“Luigi, I think…oh, god…”

“Shh, I know, baby,” he nods, reassuring, still fucking you deep and continuing his assault on your clit. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you now. You had such a bad day and you worried and stressed but you’ve got this dick now and that’s all that matters, babygirl. This dick is yours. It’s all yours.”

Just a little more—

“You feel so fucking good, bella.”

And that’s the last time you come, tears brimming in your eyes as you hold him tight and swear so loud you worry that your dead and gone ancestors can hear you from whatever void they occupy now. Luigi follows shortly after, his mouth on yours, his hands stroking your waist soothingly.

For a while the two of you lay there, entwined in his bed, him softening inside you and pressing saccharine kisses to your face. You could probably fall asleep just like this if it weren’t for the sweat sticking to you both, but after a few minutes Luigi pulls out of you, tidies up, and then kisses you, this time much less heated but all the more passionate. Loving. Maybe a bit domestic.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” he asks. You shake your head.

He collects your clothes from the floor and then scoops you up into his arms, setting you upright. “Good. Because I haven’t exhausted all my ideas yet.”

You make an inquisitive chirp, a little mmm?

“Oh, yes,” Luigi smiles wide, kneeling in front of you with his hands cupping your face adoringly. “I’m going to start the shower for you, and you’re going to clean up and get comfy, because I’m going to have something to eat for you once you’re done and you’re going to have some food and crawl back in my bed and fall asleep in my arms. How’s that sound?”

Oh, man.

You beam. “I like your plans.”

^ dividers by cafekitsune

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione fanfiction #flig’s work #✏️tutor gi

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maddiedott · 2 months ago

Text

The Haunting Games

Chapter One: The Conjuring House

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: modern au, hauntings, poor explaining of ghost investigations, talks to demons, sweet Haymitch, butering of conjuring story

Hi everyone! Hope you like the first chapter, I tried to find my style of writing with this chapter so lmk what you think! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

The camera sits very carefully and very steadily on top of the dashboard. Thankfully the car was in park or else there was no doubt that it would fall lens first into the dash, or even tumble off and land on the floorboard. Making sure it wouldn’t fall on it’s own and taking a quick peek towards the driver seat, feeling his eyes watching you with interest.

“Ready?” you receive a noncommittal hum in reply before his gaze drifts back out the window of the car.

So, with his confirmation you begin your intro.

“Hi everyone, and welcome back to my channel! And more importantly to a new installment, ‘The Haunting Games’ where I bring my friends along on these investigations and introduce them to the paranormal world.” You ramble on, introducing the new series that you had been so eagerly working at.

“There will be 10 episodes with 10 different locations and 5 guests joining us on this adventure.” Your eyes travel back to Haymitch once more, just barely out of frame, all you could make out in the little screen reflecting your image back to you in the darkness of the car as the sun had set just moments ago. All you could see of him was his arm resting comfortably on the center console. “Technically 4 guests if we’re not counting Haymitch.”

The comment received a small huff of either amusement or annoyance. He still didn’t quite grasp the idea of YouTube, more-so why you would do these things for people that you didn’t even know. Your following was pretty substantial and you made enough profit off of videos to be able to fund these types of things, and then some more for everyday life. But they made you happy to do them, to connect with people especially over the paranormal. And if his girl was happy, then he would play along as your “co-host” as you had deemed him.

When you had come to him with the idea of this new series, he wasn’t too interested in joining in, enjoying staying out of the camera’s view and instead supporting you from behind the lens. But your fans loved him, even more, loved your relationship. And he wasn’t going to let you go off and do these things by yourself, so he went along, although begrudgingly. He wouldn’t admit to you how much he enjoyed spending time with you and seeing you so excited and eager to prove the paranormal.

“But anyways guys, tonight we’re here in Burrillville, Rhode Island at The Conjuring House!” Your grin was wide and excited, it had been a place on your list for so long and now here you were, kicking off your new series with a bang.

You picked up the camera from the dash with careful hands and the lens out the window to showcase the wooden home. Although it was dark outside due to very little lighting, it focused quickly thanks to the lights inside the house. A quick turn of the camera once more to have it angled towards you, as well as catching your boyfriend in the back now as he waited for your cue to go inside. You did agree to do this all together after all.

“You might recognize the name from the super popular movie franchise, but it was all based on this house and the Perron family who had suffered and endured demonic activity.” A glance towards Haymitch and his uninterested expression staring back at you only furthered your amusement.

It was well known on your channel that your boyfriend, who was hard launched about 2 years ago, was a skeptic. Although skeptic might not be the correct term. He believed in ghosts, but didn’t buy most ghost stories and definitely nothing of the demonic nature. Most things he could explain away like the cold spots due to standing under the air vent, the shadows that you saw were tricks of the light passing quickly or even noises being the houses since they were so old. One time even debunking a crashing sound to a stray cat that had wandered in and scared you half to death.

Your fans never let you live that instance down after you posted it.

You turned your gaze back to the camera with an even wider grin at your boyfriend’s skepticism. “The house was built in 1736 and is said to be a hotspot for ghost and demonic activity. From the soldiers found on the grounds, to the ghost of an older woman who protects the house, and even demons who are set to reside in the basement. This place is investigated by many and is a popular investigation spot for the paranormal.” You conclude, clicking the button to finish off that section of the recording.

You would have to do another sit down back at the hotel or even somewhere inside and explain the entire history of the house and the story of the Perron’s and how Ed and Lorraine Warren played into the story. But for the moment, you just wanted to get on with the investigation and Haymitch was getting sick of hearing you recount the history of the place for the nth time. It was cute at the beginning, last week when you began packing and planning, but now he could probably recite the story in his sleep.

“Ready?” He echoed your previous question and was met with an enthusiastic bob of your head.

The passenger door opened quickly and you were sliding out of the car immediately, leaving him with mere moments to catch up as you were already up on the front step of the house. Clicking the record button and filming your entrance into the house, your hand rested on the doorknob for a dramatic pause. A soft “here we go” leaves your lips before your turn the knob and slowly push the door open.

You were immediately met with chilly air. Going to this place in real life rather than just watching others go in and explore your dream location was surreal. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked around, stepping into the wooden home felt like stepping back in time. You could almost imagine what the building looked like when the Perron’s lived there. The entrance of the house is sparse in terms of furniture. It was smaller, but you had done extensive research and knew your way around pretty well.The tour earlier in the day was helpful as well.

Across from the door where you entered was the basement which gave you chills just thinking about going down there later tonight. There was also a couch in the corner to your left and a fireplace. Further down your left was the stairs to go up and also what you had deemed ‘The Safe Room’. It was mostly for the owners of the place, but there were some novelty items to buy and some cool posters from the movie series. And then the room connected to that was the more modern area where ghost investigators would sign their names on the wall. All of your things were placed in there until you would use them.

To your right lead into the iconic living room also deemed as the seance room, the chair sat in the middle of the room facing the fireplace that had 2 ouija boards on the mantle.

“Do you wanna play with those tonight?” You asked, turning the camera to face Haymitch, pausing your sweeping of the rooms.

“Yeah, no.” Just because he was a skeptic he would rather not go in search of the things that went bump in the night. And it was mostly for your benefit as you would take your hand off the planchette in either excitement or fear and then freak out even more for doing so. He didn’t want to have to handle that.

You pouted at his rejection of the idea but continued on, going through one of the doors in the room that led into the small library. And letting the camera sweep over the floor to ceiling bookshelves that lined the walls and the chair in the corner that held the two Raggedy Ann dolls in honor of Annabelle.

“Isn’t that the wrong… haunting?” He asked as he followed you around, leaning against one of the doorways.

“I mean yes and no? Annabelle is part of the Conjuring franchise and was investigated by Ed and Lorraine Warren but the real conjuring house? Yeah, I don’t know why she’s-” You abruptly stop speaking, head whipped upwards towards the ceiling and the camera following.

Footsteps were heard above you both, crossing from one side to the next before ending as suddenly as they started. Your eyes widened as you looked towards Haymitch, camera panning towards him. He merely shrugged.

“All of the owners and guides are gone, we watched them leave. There shouldn’t be anyone else in here.” You explained, mostly for the camera.

You pushed out of the library, going towards the stairs that lead up into the bedrooms from the dining room as that was closer than the other set of stairs by the basement. “Hello?” You called up the stairs. “Is anyone up there?” You were only met with silence.

After about a couple minutes of waiting you continued on with your mini tour of the home, going back into the dining room. You pointed towards the doorways of the kitchen and bathroom but didn’t go inside and show them as they wouldn’t be a part of your investigation.

Going upstairs, Haymitch stayed down and offered to start setting things up for you. He had seen you do this dozens of times and knew what each piece did and how to turn it on and where you wanted it set up. Other than that he had no clue the mechanics of them.

So, going up alone you enter the master bedroom, panning the camera around and then going into the adjoined middle room that held many bean bag seats, a rocking chair in the corner and two doors on either side of a queen bed, locked and for the owner’s use. Storage was your best guess.

“This is where we heard the footsteps.” You say, eyes scanning the room. Currently all the lights were on so as silly as it sounded, you felt safer. “If that was you walking around in here, could you make another sound?” You requested whatever spirit was up there previously. You waited a few moments but nothing came so you continued on to the next adjoined bedroom.

The next room had two twin beds that faced each other on the opposite wall of the stairs. It also had a small door that led into an unfinished part that had some toys and a square pile of sand. The frame roof in this room was pure wood with nails visible and ready to give someone tetanus.

You exited the room although not feeling uneasy in there as many people claimed. Upstairs was calm and had a more soothing energy. The basement was what you were not excited about.

As you went back down the first staircase that was right above the door to the basement you heard the footsteps again in the twin bed room, walking across the floor. You had asked them to do it again and they had.

Stopping on the stairs before the turn, you looked back, half expecting to see a figure there but it was empty. As you turned the footsteps stopped again.

“Thank you.” You called out with a small grin. “If you want to talk you can come downstairs with me and talk there. I would love to hear from you.”

You waited a few more minutes for anything else, sure that there wouldn’t be you headed down.

In the time that you were exploring upstairs and waiting for responses to noises, Haymitch had broken out all the equipment and set up in the living room. You had both agreed to go into 3 rooms. Or sections really. The seance room with the library which was the most active, upstairs in the middle bedroom and the small attic room, and finally the basement.

He had the EMF reader, spirit box, plus one of the flashlights set on the couch, none of which were on yet. On the mantle of the fireplace sat another flashlight and cat balls littered the room, one at each door. The REM pod was set up in the library and he was resting against the arm of the couch waiting for you to rejoin him.

A smile graced your face at the sight, taking the final step into the room and towards him, hand gently resting against his thigh in a grateful manner. A small squeeze to his leg before rounding the couch and looking over the set out objects and trying to decide what to start with.

You set the camera down onto an armchair that rested in the corner of the room, getting a wide angle of the room and the visual of all 3 catballs within the room as well as the couch with the rest of the equipment. Once making sure that the setup was good and was able to get most of the room you returned to the couch.

Reaching for the EMF you clicked it on and handed it to Haymitch who accepted it with a small huff of amusement. He pushed himself up from the arm of the couch and began turning all the lights off, as he passed through the doorways the cat balls lit up in response to his footsteps around them.

Once the room was bathed in darkness, the investigation truly began as the camera was turned into night vision.

“Alright.” You hum, body buzzing with excitement. Haymitch settled back down onto the old-timey couch with the EMF lazily held in one hand that rested against his leg.

“I have heard a lot about this place and what you can do, I hope you’re willing to show us and talk to us like you have with others.” You begin, eyes scanning the room for any sort of paranormal event. You introduce both yourself and Haymitch to whatever entities were in the house before inviting them to come and speak with you.

“If you want to speak with us could you turn one of these flashlights on? We have one set on the couch next to Haymitch and the other one on the fireplace.” You instruct, as politely as you could.

Within a few breaths the flashlight on the mantle turned on, shining directly onto you and casting a shadow upon the coach. A small gasp left your lips as you turned towards the flashlight, hands balling in excited fists.

“Yes! Thank you!” You praise, eyes turning back towards Haymitch with excitement. His own frame still laid back comfortably against the couch but his head tilted as he tried to think of some reason as to why the flashlight had turned on.

“Thank you for that. We want to hear about you, about your story. If you used to live in this house, can you please turn the light off for me?” You waited a few minutes, waiting with baited breath.

“I dunno if this is the smartest way to ‘talk’ to them, love.” Haymitch comments, eyes set on you with a fond gaze. He loved to see you so excited about anything and be there with you.

A small frown pulls at your lips, about to retort until the flashlight turns off as if agreeing with Haymitch’s claim. His head tilted smugly, an ‘I told you so’ heavy on his face.

With a small grumble you moved to grab the spirit box and speaker before switching it on, almost immediately white noise began to fill the room, shuffling through the radio stations. You would edit in an explanation of what the devices were later, the EMF measuring electromagnetic fields that ghosts are said to manipulate although it has been at a steady two since you had handed it to your boyfriend. The flashlights were just normal ones you had gotten from a department store. The cat balls, again, were gotten from a department store and turn on from any movement. The spirit box shifted through radios stations until the ghosts found a word and manipulated the frequency in order to let the word come through the white noise.

“Hi.” A voice sounded from the box, small and feminine.

You blinked curiously having not expected a voice to come out so quickly after turning the device on. Even more so the sound of the woman’s voice.

“Hi, can you tell me who we’re talking to?” You ask, sitting down on the couch beside Haymitch, his hand instinctively finding your knee and carefully his thumb over the material of your jeans.

Minutes pass before you get another response, this time a male’s voice coming through and clearer than the woman’s. A quick and aggressive “shut up” came through. Your eyes immediately meet Haymitch’s, wide and taken aback. It has been said that there was a negative male entity within the house, was this him?

“That was rude.” I mumble slightly frowning. Your boyfriend let out a small laugh at your reaction, he wouldn’t admit that he didn’t really like that words that came from the spirit box, the aggression and command directed at his girl.

The rest of the time it was silent as if whatever the male voice was had chased any other ghost that was around in the seance room. You both stayed there for another half hour, listening to the box shift through channels and receiving nothing but white noise.

With a sigh you turn the spirit box off, turning and looking at Haymitch. You didn’t feel very comfortable any more, anxiety creeping up your chest and feeling heavy. Not after the aggression that you received and the silence that happened afterwards.

“Should we try upstairs?” You suggest, setting the box down and wiping your hands off on your thighs.

He didn’t reply right away, his eyes searching your face to see if you were okay. He could see your demeanor change, you weren’t bouncing in enthusiasm as you were previously. “You okay?”

You nod in return, standing up and picking up the cat balls. “Fine, just… My chest feels heavy now. I don’t think that guy liked me very much.”

As you picked up the cat ball that was in the doorway of the seance room and the room where you both had come in, you notice something had changed. You had just came from there when you came back down the stairs from the upstairs.

“Hon, did you open the door leading into the basement?” You ask, feeling frozen in place at the sight of the red door opened all the way, almost inviting you inside.

“No.” He answered, hauling himself up from the couch and walking towards you, his hand resting on your lower back as he stood beside you. He noticed the open door, seeing it wide open.

He stepped towards the door, hand resting against the frame and the other against the side as he pushed the door closed. It was more for your benefit than his. He turned back to you, curious on how you were holding up.

“I don’t like that. The energy down there isn’t nice. It wasn’t good when earlier when the owner gave us a tour, but the door was open now makes it so so much worse.” You explain, turning back and going into the seance room to keep picking things up.

He followed behind you, watching as you took the flashlight from the mantle, hands full with equipment. “Do you need to take a break?” He gets met with a shake of your head.

You both made your way upstairs and set up in the middle bedroom. You set the REM pod which makes it’s own electromagnetic field around it and beeps if anything interrupts it, setting it into the bedroom with the two twin beds and the attic room. Cat balls placed on the bed and one in each doorway as you settle down on the bed, sitting at the edge with Haymitch sat beside you.

He reclaimed the EMF reader, resuming the same position in his lazy hold against his leg as it stayed in a steady level two reading.

You looked around the dark room, camera set up on the beanbag across from you both. You sat quietly in the dark for a moment to try and hear any noises or anything, something to know that you both weren’t alone in here.

“We heard you walking around earlier up here.” You say aloud, eyes scanning the dark and hand carefully sliding into Haymitch’s which he held comfortingly in his own, your interlocked hands placed in his lap alongside the EMF.

“Could you come back up here and speak to us?” You ask, eyes cast down towards your own lap as you waited for any sort of sign.

You didn’t have to wait long as the cat ball that was on was in the doorway leading into the twin bedroom lit up. You pointed towards it which caught your boyfriend’s attention as he looked over as well, seeing the multicolored flashing lights of the plastic ball.

“I’m going to turn this on now, and you can use this to speak to us.” You flip on the spirit box once more, hearing the shuffling of stations fill the silence once again.

It stayed silent but the cat ball kept going off, it never seemed to stop as the colors kept flashing. Perhaps it was the child spirits that were known to be upstairs, seeing the ball and thinking of it as a toy.

“What’s your name?” Haymitch asked, eyes trained on the cat ball as it never stopped flashing. It never did that.

A few beats passed before his question was answered. “Oliver.”

Your head whipped back to look at him eyes wide. “That’s the little boy that April Perron made friends with.” You told him, remembering the story that you had found while studying the history of the house.

A shiver ran through your body, you didn’t feel any better up here than you did down stairs. You felt sickly and nauseous. Perhaps it was the fear settling in, the emotion you refused to acknowledge.

“Yes.” The voice said again through the box, confirming what you had relayed to Haymitch.

“Do you like the ball? You keep messin’ with it.” He says, hand gently squeezing yours as your palm began to sweat.

It was longer now before a reply came through, although this one wasn’t nearly as intelligent as the previous two. An audible voice saying “down there”.

You didn’t like that either as your mind went immediately to the basement where it is said for a demon to be residing. You shake your head as you shuffle slightly closer to your boyfriend. His skepticism, as annoying as it often was, was also comforting in times like these.

He presses a kiss to your temple, hand slipping from yours and slinging his arm around your shoulder in order to pull you closer into his side.

“‘S okay. Just random words.” He assured you, pressing another kiss to your temple.

There was relatively little activity for the entire hour that you were upstairs. The cat ball would go on and off, the REM pod giving a handful of beeps that would gain your attention, but after 15 minutes of asking more questions and receiving no answers you turned the spirit box off. The flashlights which received some action didn’t have much of an effect up here.

Another 15 minutes pass before you both decide to go back downstairs. The only place left to go to was the basement. You kept the spirit box with you, but you put the rest of your equipment away. Joining the spirit box was a pair of noise cancelling headphones and a sparkly pink eye mask that was used for sleeping.

You both took a moment, mostly for you to gather the courage to go down there with him. It was at this point where you finally address the camera as you both sat on the couch of the deemed ‘safe room’.

“With this new series the idea was to have the guest go into the most haunted area by themselves with one piece of equipment and a camera. But, to be honest, I don’t want to be left alone up here while Haymitch goes down. So… we’ll be going down together and doing the estes method.” You explain, a pursed smile sent towards the camera.

Haymitch’s hand never left you, always leaving a soothing touch somewhere as you sat down beside him, whether it be holding your hand, holding you close, or just resting on your leg. But it helped you calm down and gain your courage to travel down into the basement.

It was dark and damp and incredibly cold. Stone walls leading the way down a long corridor that lead further down into the basement. You beelined straight into the small room which was set up for investigators, a table sat in the middle along with chairs surrounding it. A well was in the floor along the back wall and a tall cabinet by the entrance to the room. You already didn’t like the vibe.

You two set up, placing the camera down on the table and connecting the headphones to the spirit box. As you slipped the mask onto your head and let it rest against your forehead you heard a noise out in the hallway. You froze.

Haymitch seemed oblivious to the sound or had written it off as something else that could be explained.

“I heard a knock.” You say, gesturing towards the dark hallway. He peered out to see if there was anything but nothing was out there. As he was coming back to sit down it was heard again.

“Let’s just get this over with. I don’t want to stay down here any longer than we have to.” You grumble out slipping the headphones on and being met with the sound of white noise blasting into your ears. Next you slipped the mask over your eyes to deprive your senses.

That was essentially what the estes method was, getting into a mindset where your only focus was on what you were hearing through the headphones. Any outside sounds or visuals were completely depraved.

Each time you heard a word you would repeat it.

Together.

Out.

No.

I was.

Trapped.

Demon.

That one rattled you, clutching onto his arm to make sure he was still there.

Join.

Maybe someday.

Don’t like.

Her.

When it said your name you ripped the headphones off, tossing them onto the table and peeling the mask off as if it had personally offended you.

He looked at you, startled by your movements. You hadn’t been down there more than 45 minutes as none of the answers were back to back, and some of his questions didn’t get answered.

“It said my name. I’m done. I want to leave.” You stood, immediately turning off the device and leaving the basement. He was quick behind you.

He was worried. He had seen you in previous investigations but never anything like this, not with this type of fear. That was clear as day on your face.

You said nothing as you packed everything up, shoving them into your pack and going out to the car and sitting in the passenger seat. The house was not a fan of you- which as much as you hated to admit- hurt. This had been your dream investigation and to have it be so cruel to you was not what you were expecting.

Once Haymitch had locked up as instructed by the owners, making sure there wasn’t anything left, he joined you in the car. You both sat in silence for a moment as you tried to regain your bearings. He placed the camera on the dash but didn’t say anything until you were ready. He could see how shaken up you were.

“It said my name.” You break the silence after several minutes, voice wavering.

His hand found yours immediately after that, holding tightly as if to assure you that you were okay. That he was there and wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.

“And it wasn’t friendly. It was like… mean.”

“That was the overall conclusion, yeah.” He agreed.

He went on to explain the questions that head asked. Starting off with ‘Is anyone down here’ and receiving the ‘together’.

‘Who are you?’ ‘Out’.

‘Do you want out?’ ‘No’.

‘Was that you wanting us to come down, opening the door and telling my girl to shut up?’ ‘I was’.

‘What is your goal here?’ ‘Trapped’.

‘Who are you, what’s your name?’ ‘Demon’.

‘That what you do? Scare people?’ ‘Join’.

‘Join what, join us?’ ‘Someday’.

‘Can you leave?’ ‘Don’t like.’

‘Why are you so angry?’ ‘Her’.

‘Who’s her?’ then a growled out call of your name.

The conclusion that you both had come to after the debrief was that the demon didn’t like you down there with it, especially not you within the house itself. That it was hoping for an attachment to you, to join you. It doesn’t like to leave the house, so it stays as it gets constant visitors. And most importantly, it did not like you.

“I was really hoping to start this series off with something a lot less mean and dark.” You huff out, pushing your hair from your face.

“We can always try again in the future I guess.” You suggest, eyes lingering on your boyfriend as he gave a small shrug.

“If that’s what you want to do, love.” You give a nod, taking a deep breath and then focusing back onto the camera.

“Well, I guess that was it for ‘The Conjuring House’.” You give a non-humours laugh. “Thank you guys for watching, don’t forget to like and subscribe and comment if you saw anything that we didn’t. We’ll see you next week at ‘The House of Seven Gables’ with the Salem Witch Trials with a very special guest.”

And with that you end the recording with a heavy sigh. Now all you wanted was to go to the hotel room that you both had booked and sleep for the next 7 days.

He seemed to sense that as without another word he started the car and pulled out of the driveway of the conjuring house. Maybe another day you would find yourself coming back, but for now you just wanted to get rid of the icky feeling left in your chest.

The hand that reached over and grabbed your own was definitely a good start.

#haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch fanfic #haymitch x reader #thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy #thg modern au #the haunting games

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ultraericthered · 10 months ago

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One Villainous Scene: Cage Of Expectations

A brief one, but it gives so much insight and explains so much about the inner world of a character who, up to this point, was kept shrouded in mystery even though we all knew he was the villain, and also perfectly sets him up to make the decisions he ends up making.

While the later retcon tells us that Ken became a prodigious, genius boy due to a "Dark Spore" inplanted in him by accident that only "went off" when he visited the Dark Ocean, the whys and hows aren't really crucial to understanding Ken's story at this point: he's a star student, star athlete, and even something of a young celebrity within the world of science and computers. Because he is so well known and renowned, he's given plenty of filmed interviews like we see him doing here. After the interview is done, the headmaster of Ken's school comes over to him to offer congragulatory words...and then in a very shady move, whispers to Ken the offer to tutor his daughter in her studies over at his place so that she can excell in her grades at his school, saying he'd reward Ken handsomely for it. Ken plays the "I'm just a kid, I ain't THAT good" card, which makes the principal start to back off...but then he turns back around and asks the disgruntled Ken for an autograph. Turns out that beyond mere corruption and nepotism practices, the headmaster was pestering Ken about these things because his daughter's a fangirl of Ken. This does not please Ken. Who do some plain, unexceptional, low IQ girl and her plain, unexceptional, low IQ father think they are asking him for favors like this? Such matters are far below his time and efforts.

(In the English dub, this interaction is changed to some nonsense about the headmaster wanting Ken over to help him win at a video game called "Donkey Madness" prior to getting the autograph. The effect on Ken is the same, but I think it takes a lot out of the scene.)

Ken is then seen at dinner with his parents, who are acting all congragulatory and gushing over their son's interview and how smart he is and how maturely he presents himself. Yeah, they're really shitty parents. Much as they do love their son and loved his late brother, their love for the idea of being the parents of a special genius child enraptures them so much that they lose sight of what's really best for their child and his needs as a human being, and they coast off the achievements and reputation of their child without really giving back to him in any substantial way. Ken isn't really pleased with the way they interact with him either, so he gets up and leaves the table.

Then comes the big moment. An image that says so much even when so little is said (again, in the original. The dub butchered it by having Ken internally ramble the whole way, which not even Derek Stephen Prince can really save.) Ken's on the roof of his apartment building, standing in front of a barred fence. He can see the entire city from here, a city filled with mediocre people who he considers to be completely beneath him, but who will always look to exploit his gifts and use whatever he accomplishes for their own benefit, and will feel alright about themselves for doing nothing, being nothing. Ken would love nothing more than to abuse, bully, enslave, torture, or even kill the whole lot of them...but he's far too intelligent to not know better. He knows that the rules of civil society prohibit him from acting freely upon those cruel urges, making him have to conform and comply with the regulations set by lesser people. He, a Chosen One, a "perfect human", has to just sit there and take it like a good little boy, to not werewolf and go wild on these people. He's trapped. Caged like a rare breed of animal rather than the god he believes himself to be. The bars he grabs onto represents this cage, and all he can do here is snarl and shout out to city below him "INSECTS!"

But of course we know that there's a place Ken goes to where he can actually live his wildest fantasies, and act as he would naturally prefer to act towards lesser beings completely free of repercussions. The world he believes is one large MMORPG that exists for his pleasure. The Digital World, where he asserts himself as the Digimon Kaiser. And it's at this point where he starts to call that place home.

#One Villainous Scene #Digimon #Digimon Adventure 02 #anime #Ken Ichijouji #Digimon Kaiser #Digimon Emperor

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gio-cosmo · 8 months ago

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Hi here’s me rambling endlessly abt strega and how they were handled in reload for a bit ⬇️ (heavy spoilers)

Strega is a trio of antagonists that I often see overlooked completely, frequently described as “forgettable” and “non-threatening”. You’d think that an antagonistic group responsible for one of the main characters deaths would hold more weight, right? I think the main reason that this is such a common mindset is because of Strega’s critical lack of screen-time, and also the fact that their backstories / reasoning behind their actions are explained in a very rushed manner. Despite this, I think Strega is an incredibly interesting group of characters, and I think it’s a shame Atlus didn’t bother to flesh them out more.

Main issue: Lack of screen-time. Why the rush?

Atlus made a point to act as if Reload would give Strega a plethora of new content, but in reality, we barely got anything extra at all. Is it a step up from Portable/FES? Absolutely, and I’m very grateful for that. But even still, this was a golden opportunity to really show off Strega’s intricacies, and to throw away such a perfect chance was a pretty lousy move, in my opinion. There was so many opportunities to show Strega’s viewpoints and have it flow well with the story, but these chances were rarely taken — because of this, their presence in the story is weakened substantially.

Lack of group interaction - when having an antagonist group, it’s important to have them be…well, you know. A group. We barely get to see them interact together, and when we do, it’s either for very quick moments, or it’s when their talking to someone else (in which, it’s usually just Takaya talking on behalf of all of them)

This falls along with how their lack of screen-time is the biggest issues — there’s no chances to see them interact with each other if their barely given the chance to be on screen to begin with.

Lack of individual interaction - where the hell is my Jin hangout event? :(

If they can figure out how to give Takaya one-on-one conversations with the MC to let the player get to know his character more, they could’ve certainly figured out how to do so with Jin and Chidori as well. They could’ve had you talk with Jin through the assassination request site and Chidori by finding her at the bench she’s always at when she talks with Junpei. See how that took me approximately five seconds to think up? You’re telling me nobody in the development room was like “hey guys maybe we should actually give ALL of our main antagonists some one-on-one interactions so we can see how they function when away from each other. Oh, I guess we don’t really show them interacting as a group that much either so we should throw that in as well lmfaoo whoops” Like guys come on. I’m sighing so heavily right now and also shaking my head in dismay.

(You could argue that we already get to see Chidori interact solo with Junpei so it wouldn’t be necessary to see her interact solo with the MC, but I still think it would be a neat addition. All I know is that there is absolutely NO reason that Jin shouldn’t have gotten some sort of hangout event :(

Missed opportunities - “let’s all be able to shift and not tell Chidori!”

We don’t get a single trio fight in the entire game. This is so ridiculous to me that I get irritated every time I think about it. “Let’s have a antag trio and not let them fight together haha” yeah real funny man I’m having such a good laugh over here 😐 it doesn’t even make any sense either. Chidori’s solo fight genuinely should’ve just been a trio fight. “She told us to wait inside lol” damn she’s not even letting you spectate??? 😭 developers wanted them off-screen so bad they LITERALLY had them wait outside the door standing there doing nothing. Atlus. Come on now man.

Common misconceptions — “Strega doesn’t care about Chidori.”

WRONG INCORRECT BUZZER 🚨🚨🚨 They do, actually, they just have roundabout ways of showing it because of the whole “caring about people is a weakness” mindset that they so desperately latch onto. I’ve seen lots a people say that they believe Takaya truly does not care for his teammates at all, and while I guess in technicality it’s all up to personal interpretation, I do strongly disagree with this standpoint. The last thing Takaya is saying while watching Nyx approach is that he wishes Jin was with him, and gets visibly and vocally distressed when Jin falls in battle before him. In the Persona 3 manga, what stops Takaya from killing Junpei is the sight of Chidori’s spirit. If he truly didn’t care about Chidori, why would that stop him in his tracks? I think it’s clear that Takaya is stuck in a mindset that formed when he was an angry and mistreated child, and because of this he’s convinced himself he is incapable of feeling attachment towards anyone, and voices this constantly while seeing it as a weakness. Despite this, I do think he cares about his teammates deep down, but refuses to admit it. This extremely ingrained hypocrisy is something I wish was more expanded on.

Misconceptions continued - “the fact that the members of Strega aren’t ridiculously overpowered makes them bad villains.”

…No! For Strega, using their Persona’s is a very taxing endeavor — it wouldn’t make canonical sense for them to be extremely powerful. You might be thinking, “well, the fact that their battles aren’t immensely difficult is why they aren’t payed much mind as antagonists.” I disagree. The reason is the criminal lack of screen time. Now, I don’t think it’s bad to want more difficult fights, to each their own and all, I just think it’s a bit silly when people use that as their main core reason for hating them, considering it really wouldn’t make *sense* for them to be super powerful. Anyways. Moving on.

Things that would’ve strengthened Strega as characters:

- More scenes

- A more fleshed out work-together event (teaming up with Takaya was cool, but also a bit random? Should’ve been expanded upon more)

- Backstory flashbacks (this could also have been used as foreshadowing for Ikutsuki’s betrayal instead of making it seem so abrupt)

- DLC (being able to play AS them for a bit would be awesome)

Frankly, I think that The Answer should’ve been included in base-game, and Strega should’ve gotten a DLC. They would really benefit one, and they could make it really informative and interesting, explaining more about how they were experimented on as kids & how it affects them, etc.

I also think it would’ve been beneficial to make Strega have more influence outside of the Dark Hour. In the later parts of the game, they do gain popularity when the cult starts up, but it’s all incredibly abrupt and there’s barely any lead up to it. It would’ve been interesting to see a gradual lead up to it all, slowly seeing their influence spread as the game continues, and having tension rise as they ensnare more people into believing their set of ideals. Having them suddenly gain influence so rapidly seemed just..generally unrealistic, I guess.

There’s for real even more I could go on about but this is already so long that I’ll go ahead and cut myself off here. Anyways. I love Strega <3

#I actually made this into an entire slideshow for my tiktok but I can’t fit all the slides on here #so I just pasted the text lmfao #gotta spread the Strega ramblings one way or another #persona 3 #p3 #persona 3 reload #persona #jin shirato #chidori yoshino #takaya sakaki #(if I got any details wrong feel free to throw bricks at me or something - my memory is so baddd 😭)

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cartoon-buffoon · 7 months ago

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Going back to my love for cartoons for a bit here: random idea/ramble regarding Ortensia and sort of epic Mickey as a whole.

In Epic Mickey there's of course the drama regarding the heart and fame, yadda yadda you get it. Now of course Oswald was never truly forgotten however they still use the term forgotten because truth be told he didn't really have any fans before Epic Mickey. Like sure people knew of him, of course they did, he's a big part of animation history and his loss lead to Ub and Walt making Mickey Mouse. The reason why he was labelled as "forgotten" despite never truly being forgotten is actually brought up in the EM comics tales of wasteland comics

It's acknowledged people DO remember him but because Oswald has very little actual character in the classic shorts he was reduced to nothing more than "the first Disney Mascot!" (Julius was a side character in the Alice Comedies he does not count, shush) but back to what I was saying: this actually does a good job explaining that Wastelands' label of being "forgotten" is sort of loose and means just they don't have any actual fans because before Epic Mickey Oswald truly didn't have any fans, what was there to be a fan of? I thought of this recently because it brings up an interesting dilemma with characters in the EM universe. Like this is getting meta here but logically because of EM's existence Oswald does have proper fans now, he would logically be out of wasteland and he would have a heart. Wanna know who wouldn't though? Ortensia and the bunny kids

Like considering we never got an EM 3 with a playable Ortensia which would probably have her story actually give her some character and depth she is still kinda forgotten? Like yeah we do have bits and pieces of what she's like but sadly nothing really in depth? Like yes, she does have fans and she's certainly not forgotten but compared to Oswald who has depth she never got proper screentime to shine. Setting aside headcanons and fan made media, what do we have of Ortensia? We have comics from Tales of Wasteland, we have the one Christmas comic, and of course the knowledge of her status in EM as the queen of Wasteland implying she is married to Oswald. Comparing her to Oswald once more she has basically nothing of substantial character other than "she's Oswald's wife who is sweet but also logical", we don't see much outside of that and it's disappointing, same goes for the bunny kids who we have literally nothing of. We know of them, we know there's a singular daughter amongst the 419 boys, that's about it.

Anyways I thought of this in the first place because there's probably a very tragic truth that while Oswald would now be able to leave wasteland his wife and kids wouldn't. They're still stuck there being forgotten because we, the audience, have nothing really to be fans of other than shallow details of who they are. There's very little separating Ortensia from her appearance in the classic shorts which once again—holy fuck I'm sad we didn't get an EM3 the concept art of her is awesome. But ya know with that being said this sort of dynamic with Oswald now having a heart makes for the very sweet idea that he is now capable of leaving wasteland, but he doesn't. I imagine Oswald wouldn't, he wouldn't abandon his friends or family and currently continues to reside as a ruler choosing to use his ability to travel to and fro purely to help the denizens of wasteland. He remembers where he came from and he knows where his family is and wouldn't want to have it any other way.

(also the little prick has his imagery plastered everywhere, despite having a heart you cannot tell me he would choose to live in toon town where other toons probably don't care about him, he loves to be the center of attention lmao)

#rambles from toon #oswald the lucky rabbit #ortensia whiskers #ortensia the cat #epic mickey #epic mickey 2 #headcanons #hcs #mad doctor #the bunny kids

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 2 months ago

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what was the creative process behind your spike fic? i always love reading your notes on creating fic!

OMG, anon, thank you for the opportunity to ramble!

I'm actually gonna put a cut on this thing because I know people will want to scroll past the absolute wall of text I'm about to put out. I'm literally gonna write an essay on the birth of this beast, timeline-wise.

Kay. So, I've been reading a ton of Spike fics in like the last month or two. Before that, I was bouncing around with The Vampire Diaries, Star Wars, Star Trek, a lot of sci-fi/modern/futuristic stuff. I think that made the progression easier for me to 'get into' writing a modern fic.

This might be a bit dumb, but I cried when I found out that Michelle Trachtenberg died. Buffy was the legit first thing me and my dad had in common when I was a teenager (extenuating circumstances, but let's just say that we didn't get on great due to mutual, if separate, issues). It was a bit of a gut punch, you know? So I started looking at old Dawn fanfics I'd read back in the day—sue me, but when I was like 14 and my biggest crush was Spike, I read Dawn x Spike (given that I wasn't involved in wider fandom discourse at the time, I wasn't exactly literate on the whole ew-that-ship-is-NOT-okay thing)—and stumbled across the oldies I pored over. Geez, I swear fanfiction.net used to be a better quality site? Haven't been there in literal years, and I've gotten so spoiled by AO3 that it felt a bit like slummin' it. But the trip down memory lane was fun. Ran out of steam for Dawn x Spike, so I turned to Spuffy, Spander, Spillow, read all my old faves. Then I saw that there were new Buffy Funko Pops, and as a Funko ho I got them. Then I started rewatching episodes here and there. All the scenes of Spike getting verbally shat on by Buffy in Seasons 5 and 6 made my heart hurt—funny, because I don't really recall if it was quite so horrible to watch as a kid—and I was like "see, this is where fanfic comes in." Decided to hop back online and see if there were any good Spike x OC/Reader fics. A few, and really good (I'll reblog my reads if anyone's interested in that at all), but nothing that scratched the exact itch I was after. The whole "Spike should have an ending where he doesn't have to hide or excuse a part of himself" itch. Then the creativity itch started up.

I've been a bit leery of writing fanfic for a bit. Well, posting it, anyway. Done bits and bobs of ToE, but nothing substantial enough to put up as a complete chapter update. I've also been dabbling with Star Trek (Spirk x Reader, lol) and TVD fic (Klaus x Reader x Elijah, can you tell I like threesomes?), but neither of those are done. The latter is more done, and I might post that eventually, but it got away from me a bit because I made the mistake of just yeeting ideas out without making some sort of plan. Same with the Star Trek fic, TBH. I've sorta smutted myself into a hole with both—too much detail, to the point it reads like a blow-by-blow and I'm exhausted just reviewing it. The pacing's all wonky. So anyway, I sat on an idea of a Spike x Reader, partially based on old maladaptive fantasies I used to invent as a teen while trying to fight off insomnia. Being Buffy's sister. Being the one Spike falls for. It felt like the right move, in the name of nostalgia, to tackle an old daydream. And I think I've already mentioned that I've wanted to write a relationship fic using external character POVs, partly because I'm a freaky little voyeur, partly for drama and partly because it's an interesting way to practice at writing each character. If you can believably write in an approximation of their voice, you understand them, right?

Wasn't hard to draft some dot points about the order of development (something's up > too close at funeral > twoo wuv confession > sads after Buffy > catch post-nut > catch mid-nut > catch pre-nut > big blow-up > semi-resolution > happy days). Wasn't originally going to include Angel, but given Spike's hate-on for him and the necessity of filling in another character blank, I felt it held up to include him. The only possible place he could fit was Joyce's funeral, seeing as he was present in canon there, so there he was assigned. I had to think logistically in my assignments: I started with Xander getting to view the live graphic smut show, seeing as how he basically cops the same thing with Buffybot. That was a fun scene to write! I then went back to the 'huh, why's Spike being weirder than usual?' intro scene and decided that if it were anything more intense, Buffy'd probably just kill him, so she had to get that one. The other intimate scenes (confession, post- and mid-smut stuff) had to go to characters who wouldn't dob Spike and Reader in, so Anya, Dawn and Tara they went to. Dawn couldn't have the confession, she was busy being sacrificed by Glory, and she definitely couldn't have the active smut bit because she's a kid and ew. Giles got the post-Buffy's-death mourning sequence because he's mostly absent in Season 6 and I wanted to preserve that. I knew it was going to end with either Reader or Spike POV (to hit home how SWAG things are), and that basically left Willow by default with the confrontation scene.

I wrote it all out of order. Xander first, back to Buffy, then Angel, then Tara, then Anya, then Giles, then Dawn, and then Willow - Reader - Spike occurred in sequence. Had to do some editing to get them to flow on, but the beauty of the separated scenes meant that the internal monologue didn't have to be consistent between scenes. Each character's limited by what they know, which is most apparent in Giles's POV, given that he's interpreting Spike/Reader as a developing closeness rather than a secret affair masquerading as flirtation which I hope is what comes across. For authenticity, I tried to preserve the spelling, punctuation and grammar norms relative to the regions of origin for each character—everyone bar Giles and Spike have Americanised English (which I frequently stuffed up and have had to go back countless times and re-edit), while those two have good ol' British/Australian English. Not a thing most will notice, but I was determined to make that a thing, even if people don't necessarily think in words requiring correct spelling. Don't ask me why this was a compulsion, just blame my rampant autism.

I was mostly done with the fic by the time I started posting it on AO3. It came outta me with a quickness that I haven't had in a long time. I think it was mostly because I didn't really expect it to go anywhere initially; it was an itch to scratch like my other non-HotD fic dabblings, and I probably wouldn't finish it. Also, it didn't carry the burden of all these developed plot points as a brand-new fic, nor the weight of getting through the narrative arc due to the indeterminate time jumps and shifts in POV. Then I didn't really have any intention of posting it. Then it grew wings, and I decided to post on AO3 just because it seemed right to do. It actually wasn't well-edited the first go round, and I've gone back around 20 times since to change little bits that I didn't notice (I've since discovered that the easiest way for me to spot issues on my own is to post/draft it to AO3 and read it on my phone before bed, seems tired me is a picky beetch), which is annoying because I'm a perfectionist nutjob and the modern lingo did my head in a bit. I'm used to writing very floral, formal, medieval prose—very proper—and using all those contractions and incomplete sentences sent me 'round the bend. But CHARACTER CONSISTENCY, Em, CHARACTER CONSISTENCY. Must flagellate myself for the sake of realism. It helped to lean on over a decade's worth of fanfic consumption, some remembered and many hundreds not. I also think I've been a bit through the emotional/mental health wringer, so maybe there's an element of no-fuss-no-muss bleeding through? I dunno. Psychoanalysis isn't my strong suit.

I... think my answer's gotten away from me. Or maybe reads like I think I've created the next Iliad or something. Nah, it's just an excuse to write smut with one of my oldest platinum-blonde bad-boy-with-a-clear-lack-of-conscience crushes. It's nice to extend my writing abilities, diversify them a bit. I honestly didn't think I was going to move away from historical/fantasy fic, but I do have ideas for other stuff and it's cool so far getting to explore that. I struggle with single one-shots, so naturally I'm writing more to the story with a sequel. Much more direct, this next one—Spike POV only. It weaves back into some canon events, but brings up new stuff too in an attempt to generate more conflict and to showcase Spikeyboy being a kept house-husband, essentially. It ain't the chip in his head neutering him, it's the fact that his nuts are in Reader's little handbag. We see in Season 2 how over-the-top devoted he can get, and he never got the chance to show that with Buffy, so why not give him a gal just vulnerable enough for ol' Spike to swoop in and save the day for?

Anyway, yeah. There's my answer. I hope this is the deep-dive you were after, nonnie! Thanks for the question!

#fanfiction asks

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whatevertheweather · 1 year ago

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Hi hello. I miss y'all. That is my own fault but it's still true, and I'm writing this on saturday night and feeling maudlin about how wonderful and talented and dear this fandom is and how I never join in anymore, so I'm making my little post okay.

I'm going with Musical Chairs again because it's so far past time for that to be done. And I've said this before, but it is approaching done. And I'm gonna get into that, but it'll all be behind the scenes rambling, so it's below the cut, and for those who don't want to delve that far, here is some freshly written Penny POV.

“Ah,” Shepard smiled, “a good deed wasn’t motive enough on its own?” “Not when it’s for a stupid reason.” “What is your un-stupid reason?” “Un-stupid?” Penny repeated. She turned resolutely to her drink. “Nevermind. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” “Hey now,” Shepard said, ducking into her line of sight. “You struck me as someone who prefers being honest.” It was a job not to smile at that, but Penny put the work in.

Now for the mess.

It's a good mess I think. I have a new section in my miscellany document, tucked in between nine (9) sections of ramblings and cut scenes, and the new section is called "we got it this time boys," and I think it's right. I've written a full draft of the scene that's been holding us all back. It's there in its entirety, it just needs to be edited. And I'm so scared to reread it, because every time I think I got this scene right I come back and it's wrong. Which I've decided to be fine with, because so what!!! So what if I got 36k right and there's 5k that doesn't quite hit the way I want it to!!! The earth will keep spinning!!!

Anyway, "we got it this time boys" is 3 pages of what is technically kind of an outline for 5 pages of story, and every time I read the header it's in the voice of someone from some black-and-white hardboiled detective noir, which brings me the joy that might be the only reason I feel I've gotten it right in the first place. The outline is all written about as cohesively as it starts:

I think maybe, and gosh haven’t I said this a million times, I just need to stop trying to go that way. Stop trying to go any way. Like always “how do I get them to this moment” instead of “what would they do in this situation.” Unfortunately, the latter requires I connect with them on a level I’m not sure I can right now. But I guess let’s try. Actually let’s go for a walk, I can see the sun setting on the top of the house across the way and it’s lovely. Okay nice, it was lovely. Relaxing, refreshing. Saw a stump that looked like a beaver. Saw a cat. Thought of the opening to something I’m never going to write. So anyway,

It also sort of ends with:

Oh shit came up on an obstacle immediately. [Redacted]. This does not actually open the door for Baz to say something that can incite “[Redacted].” Fuck god okay whoops already going completely back on all I’ve decided and thinking maybe we could keep some of the new exchange I’d written, maybe he does reveal the ugh no stop I hate this. Just figure out a transition to bring in [...], what would Baz say to that other than what I’ve written him saying to that which doesn’t work for what I’m trying to do. I guess it could just be, like…he murmurs incorrigible. Or something. With a raised brow, a la baz. Sure let’s do that, however, I’ve laid down to do this and learned I’m actually quite sleepy, so let’s do it another time. Hopefully I don’t come up on another immediate problem and despair. Just remember not to start combining things and rereading things yet, okay. Please.

This would be alarming if I hadn't already gotten past this point and written the thing. So I'm going to go into editing it with the mindset that nothing substantial shall change and boohoo to me if I want it to, and once that's done we're pretty much home free.

Now tags.

Gonna dip a toe back into being melancholy and wistful about this fandom k, I really do miss it even though I'm the only one keeping me out. You're all my friends even if that is a surprise for you to hear because we haven't talked in months or maybe ever, but I love each and every one of you x

@fatalfangirl @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @moodandmist @cutestkilla @artsyunderstudy

@bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @mooncello @noblecorgi @alexalexinii

@rimeswithpurple @ivelovedhimthroughworse @basiltonbutliketheherb @whogaveyoupermission @facewithoutheart

@martsonmars @iamamythologicalcreature @run-for-chamo-miles @thewholelemon

@forabeatofadrum @youarenevertooold @ileadacharmedlife @monbons

#remember when this was supposed to be the fun one shot I worked on when I didn't have the energy for other things #ha ha #btw I checked myself #this scene that's been stopping this train on its tracks is 2k #2 k #stopped the whole show #six sentence sunday #my writing

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solid-six · 4 months ago

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finished the main storyline in cyberpunk last night, played it about 90 hours. some random rambling (spoiler) thoughts:

it played remarkably well for me! i know it's been several years now and they did some major update recently - but still, even if i hadnt heard about the initial problems, i still would have thought 'man, this plays GREAT!'. some occasional janky npc movement but even things like horizon are worse with that. seems like i decided to come around and play it at the right time i guess.

was a little underwhelmed with the ending. i know there are multiple endings - not sure if i unlocked them all but my choices were 'let johnny and rogue do it', (which is probably cool but seemed like a letdown because what else did V come all this way for if not to bust it open herself), 'kill yourself', (which i mean i get it but also im having fun and want to keep playing, so no), and 'do it with panam and the avocados' - which I ultimately chose. i was a little bored with that whole 'family' side stuff, so wasn't too excited about doing it that way to begin with. plus the epilogue section was just a bit too...sunny and hopeful? i'm not saying I wanted something dark and sad instead - just that neither of those really seem to fit the tone of the story. i wish V could have done it with rogue AND johnny there! i missed them bickering for the latter few hours :-(

was not expecting it to be as funny as it was! i got excited every time johnny appeared because hearing the two of them quip back and forth were some of my favorite moments. I love that V had pretty believable reactions to things, was regularly like 'are you FUCKING kidding me?! you want me to do WHAT?!' 'Oh so NOW you wanna talk to me?!' that shit always makes me laugh because yes, are you fucking kidding me. the whole 'ghost that's following you around is kinda annoying and they dont wanna be there either *eye roll**fuck you**fuck YOU*' is a trope i will NEVER tire of.

first few hours of playing it some dude screamed at me to help drive him to a doctor and i guess i didnt drive fast enough because he jumped out of the car saying 'I CANT TAKE IT ANYMORE' and then his dick exploded and he died. A++

@judyalvqrez sorry but, now whenever i see you in my notes, at first i'm like 'omg stop the infiltration mission guys, judy's texting me gotta run *wheels screeching*'

i HATE it when games make you drive for no real reason - looking at YOU, Alan Wake 1 - so for the first, idk, like 20 hours I straight up REFUSED to drive unless a quest required it and even then I grumbled and drove like shit. I did get over this once I discovered the BIKES.

also related to the ending: why tf would you ever leave night city when it has PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION *cries*

my partner and i are now regularly making the repetitive 'doodle-doooo' sound that plays over and over again in the map/menu to each other.

whoever it was that decided that when you're scrolling down through a list of like, let's say, 20 rows but you can only see 5 on screen at a time, and when you get to the bottom, to row 20, and press down again, normally the game will either a) do nothing or b) will jump back to row 1 - nah, here we decided that we'll have it jump back to the first one shown on screen?! like, row 16?! insanity. still in disbelief and trying to process this choice that was made. by far the biggest most substantial complaint i have in the entire game. wowzer.

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surrealisticduvet · 8 months ago

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Album Review: Pretty Much Your Standard Ranch Stash (1973)

I’d like to start this review with another excerpt from liner notes - please indulge me. It will become relevant in a few paragraphs.

“Mine has been built on logic, which is probably one of the subtlest traps going... that whole 2+2 trip... the logical development that leads to fear of anything outside itself... ... Music was always the gum in those works... All that thinking went to hell when the music came. I'd be sitting around, immersed in this bubble-bath serenity of having figured something out... put right into its nice little orderly spot, and then - WHAMO - I've got to deal with music... no reason... no basis other than just its purest expression…”

Pretty Much Your Standard Ranch Stash (the one where he’s doing the George Harrison wink on the cover, next to the words “Buy This Record / Compact Disc”) was the last album for Michael’s RCA contract, and it did about as well as the first five did (guess the subliminal messaging didn't work...) What makes this record stand out from the others is that it was recorded with a group of artists from his own Countryside label - which was somewhat by chance in terms of the timing - as opposed to with a dedicated band, or in a duo.

(pretty much your standard rambly review... below the cut!)

Favorite parts of the album:

I think recording with the Countryside group was a great call and very fortunate - the musicality of this record is really iconic, and if you weren’t familiar with the track listing, you could still instantly pick out these songs as parts of the Ranch Stash sound. It’s made up of a rather simple but effective steely guitar strum, in uncomplicated keys, and it suits the songs on this record perfectly. This is not his most technically complicated, his most ambitious, or his most poetic album – but it does have a fantastic, self-sufficient sound, and if I wanted to put on something of his to listen to casually without having to worry about lyrics or themes, I might reach for this one. Another quote from the liner notes:

“The music was just the music. Not really earthshattering, mind- blowing, brilliant... none of that. Just music. This whole album was one of those conversations me and the music had. Don't get fooled by the lyrics... Lyrics aren't really the communicative part... Lyrics are just the logical part for people who are into that…”

The lyrics on this album are good, albeit a little simple at times. There’s nothing really experimental here, except for “The Back Porch and a Fruit Jar Full of Iced Tea” and the words (a medley of a poem and a song written by someone else) are not what makes it a fantastic song – it is the music and presentation.

Other hits from the record (well, to me – not to the charts) include “Some of Shelly’s Blues," a well-deserved staple for live performances, and “Prairie Lullaby,” where he sweetly yodels a loved one to sleep. There’s an alternate version of “Marie’s Theme” on the extended release as well, which is pretty good if you’re not up for the cinematically trailing original edition on The Prison. “Born to Love You” is perennial, albeit simple, and “Winonah” is apparently hailed by critics as one of his most true-to-form country-style songs, although it’s rather low on my own personal favorites list.

Critiques:

Only three and a half of the seven songs were written by Michael (he co-wrote “Winonah”), although I suppose at exactly 50% that’s not bad, but it feels less substantial than usual. His line about the lyrics being set by the wayside for this one does kind of ring true.

Conclusion:

Can I first of all just say, it is amazing that his records so far are so highly rated – rateyourmusic is certainly NOT the end-all-be-all of music journalism, and the ratings are highly subjective (but it's where I'm at, lol) -- but for a secondary-career solo artist’s first six albums to average at over 3.5/5 stars is very impressive, in my opinion. I really can’t say enough how good and inspired I think his music is. That being said-

With Ranch Stash, I think he was really nearing a point where he needed to try something new and invigorating, and he certainly achieved that (spoiler) on his next record-slash-project. He was branching out into many directions, struggling with some personal things, and not doing great financially – I don’t want to say that this album suffered because of any of this, but it makes sense why it didn’t try to be more ambitious. It “kept it simple, stupid” in a very modest and effective way, and it’s still great to listen to. In fact I’m very glad that he had a set of studio musicians who could support him in this way, which is something he always longed for. He seemed self-aware of these external influences and, once again with those liner notes, sort of sums up the philosophy behind the album with this:

“And if I come to a fork in the road, I don't panic anymore, I just assume that one is the road and the other is a road off to the side.”

#michael nesmith #pretty much your standard ranch stash #mike nesmith #album reviews

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potahun · 2 months ago

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F, R, K, Z? :p

eheheheh <3 i see what you did.... thanks for the ask!! (fandom ask game)

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom

20+ years i...guess... ;;;;;;;;; welp

R - A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships

Liu Cuimian x Zhang Luo in MXDZT (S8E11-S8E12) really killed me, but i am pretty certain that, at least on tumblr, no one ships this except me. in all likelihood, no one has even heard of them here... (they're so good though!! T0T)

K - How do you feel about the other people in your current fandom

The frkz village seems really sweet and has been nothing but sweet and nice in the interactions I've had? they're also very...funny, everyone is so humorous, it's crazy. and they come across as very ...orderly and peaceful? as far as i can see, anyway, i've never seen fandom drama on this side

broader in dcmk fandom, i'm surprised to see ship hate manifest in the ways that they manifest, sometimes :O sometimes it's under official twt acc posts too, so i'm like :O but i don't touch that with a ten feet pole. otherwise, it's been really sweet and fun too!!

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go

i am currently dying - so the frkz fandom, as mentioned, is really "well-behaved" and so far i have actually seen ZERO spoiler about the plot, and SO MANY well-tagged spoilers about the furuya and kazami aspects in the movie (so this is kinda spoiler-free but also maybe not entirely depending on how you define spoiler, read the rest at your own risk) and i have a feeling im gonna have to rework my FRKZ timeline substantially once i finally get to watch it TT aaaaaaa and it's driving me crazy. i have so many questions!!!! WHY! WHAT HAPPENED! i need to know. the feedback i've seen is all positive? but i have seen some things that make me go "eh TT really" i'm gonna need to see it myself to get the vibe and nuances

it's driving me crazy....

#replies #sauvechouris #thanks for the frkz ask!! hehe

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shads-shipposts · 5 months ago

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As yes, the biggest nightmare of all. Small talk. At least we get some fun banter again! Shadow and Allan really play well off each other for a snark-off, and of all interactions in this book so far, theirs is the easiest to write. Neil and Shadow will come back into play next chapter, as well as Shadow and Tom. Neil and Shadow is hella fun, they fall into a brother-sister category while Shadow and Tom are more uncle-niece with occasional sibling energy.

Enjoy the lighthearted fun while it lasts I say for no reason in particular :)

Beginning: Here Next: Here Previous: Saturday Ao3 Version: Here Masterlist: Here

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Well, now I knew for certain this was a dream.

It'd taken a ridiculously long time, but the scenes had finally gone fuzzy and shifted.

How'd that Spongebob meme go? He went home and did nothing of particular interest until the plot needed him?

Because the last thing in my memory was leaving Sakharine at the marketplace where my watch read 11 something am, but I'd looked at my watch again after walking a few steps and now it was close to 3 pm. My stomach was also full now, and had stopped growling at me, so I had even more confirmation I was dreaming.

Of course, recognizing it as a dream was a double edged sword because now I ran the risk of accidentally waking myself up. That wouldn't do, I needed to get myself on that ship and annoy Sakharine more before I woke back up.

The plans were already getting closer to completion, with me meeting up with Sakharine and getting in the car with him and Nestor to go to Marlinspike. Aside from surviving the prideful rambling, all I had to do now was just try not to think about it being a dream so I didn't wake up without seeing the boys again.

It's still too linear, a voice hissed in the back of my mind. Too coherent. Are we really sure we're dreaming?

We feel no pain, are indestructible to blunt force such as falling down two stories of crates, and now we've time traveled. There's no other possibility.

What if we're in one of those self-inserts, where the protagonist gets special powers?

Fat chance of that. Universe hopping doesn't exist.

I shoved the doubts to the back of my mind, even as a seed of concern began to corrupt my confidence and twist my stomach.

Universe hopping wasn't real.

Right?

Right.

I watched the trees speed past, blurring together as we snaked deeper into the countryside. Sakharine was talking, saying something about something, but in all honesty his voice had kinda faded to white noise several minutes prior.

It was kinda funny, though.

Here I was, worrying about Allan and his bunch causing this dream to sour into a nightmare when I should have been fretting about the worst nightmare of all...

Small talk with a man who clearly thought himself the greatest thing since sliced bread.

How he didn't notice my eyes glaze over and my responses become less substantial, I had no idea.

Or maybe he did notice, but didn't care.

Does this man have any social awareness of how insufferable he comes across?

I was really beginning to regret not just letting Allan and co drag me onto the ship in the back alley. Because now I had to sit through what felt like the longest car ride I'd ever had listening to this red-coated Ruskie ramble on about how wealthy and grand his estate would be once he got it working. Listening to how superior Rackham's bloodline was to the Haddocks, which I did not ask about nor did I care for.

Take me back to the mobsters! Allan, I'll let you fuckin' shoot me if it means I don't have to deal with this prick.

"And yourself?"

I jumped, whipping my head to stare at him. "Huh?"

His eye twitched, but he bit back any condemnation and just asked again, "How did you come to know about the story of the Unicorn?"

"Oh. I like piratey stuff, and came across tales of it while researchin' Calico Jack in the West Indies."

Not entirely a lie, as some of my searches on Calico Jack Rackham did lead me back to Tintin's Unicorn arc.

"And how did you find your way here from the states?"

"College studies."

Not a lie either, as that Fall 2019 semester of sophomore year stressed me out so much I'd been rewatching the Tintin movie to distract myself. Which no doubt wormed its way into my subconscious and gave birth to this still oddly linear dream.

"College? What do you study?"

"Environmental studies."

"And how does that lead to you being in Belgium?"

I thought Allan asked a lot of questions.

Though I'd be infinitely more happy to ramble on to Allan, because even if he used the information to determine my use at least the question would have some sort of point. This man is just feigning small talk. No matter the method, Allan would at least care about the information even if it was for selfish reasons.

I can't stand pointless conversations.

"Thought I could get some research done here."

"You should see the grounds around Marlinspike Hall," Sakharine said. "It is a work in progress, of course, and there is much work to be done. But I am in the process of restoring it to its rightful glory."

Like I wanna stroll through gardens with your crusty ass.

Though... If I know the lay of the land then I can better play run-around with the sailors because I know damn well they'll be there.

The voice in the back of my head spoke up again.

Why would you care about that? You know that if this was a dream the landscape would be very likely to change.

Go. Away.

I had criminals to annoy.

I couldn't be thinking about logic.

"I'd be up for that," I said carefully. "I'm not much of a botanist, more on the zoologist side. But I can appreciate quality landscapin'."

Sakharine puffed out his chest, basking in the praise like a fat lizard on a rock as he launched into more about his plans for the estate and how it was in much better hands now that he was in control of it.

The relief I felt when we finally pulled up to the crumbling gates and drove through was indescribable, and I couldn't wait to fling myself out of the car. If Nestor, bless him, didn't hurry the hell up I was gonna yeet myself headfirst through the window of this old wagon.

Speaking of cars, I thought, recognizing the small blue Ford parked near the back. Looks like I was right. Home boy really did sic his henchmen on me.

Well, that was fine.

Gave me an excuse to be a menace and pay him back for being so damn draining.

Why would you need to pay your subconscious back for being irritable? This is a dream, right?

Not now. I got enough of a headache.

"Havin' visitors?" I asked, dipping my head towards the blue car.

"It is merely some workers doing renovations, my dear."

Hellfire I wish I was a deer so some hunter would shoot me dead. At least most hunters are quick.

"Ah. I ain't intrudin' on anything, am I?"

"Not at all."

You sound very convincing.

Slipping out of the car, I tilted my head back and took in the once grand visage of the old manor.

Time had not been kind to the place, the old stonework fighting a losing war with ivy that seemed deadset on swallowing the place whole. Couldn't have been kudzu, or this place would have been lost to nature years ago. Rotted, sun-bleached old boards barricaded half-broken windows on the first floor, many hanging haphazardly by just a few nails. A row of fresh windows with neither boards nor ivy near the western end on the second floor immediately told me where Sakharine slept, and I stifled a laugh.

The man may as well have put a giant flashing neon arrow to any burglar that if they wanted to get the good shit, they should target that room.

The driveway was mostly cleared of ivy and weeds, but the steadfast plants crouched at the edges of the cobblestone and gravel. Waiting their turn to join their brethren laying siege to the house itself.

I thought I caught movement, a flash of brown, along the boarded up windows on the eastern side of the top floor. I focused there for a moment, waiting to see if the mysterious figure showed themselves again, but nothing happened.

"Nestor," Sakharine said, drawing my attention to him. "Get the manor presentable."

"Yes, sir," came the mellow reply.

Sakharine turned to me. "Are you ready?"

I nodded, but when he turned away I stole another glance at the window.

Yeah.

Definitely someone there now.

Allan, maybe?

Offering a snarky grin and swift two-fingered salute, I hurried after Sakharine before he could turn back around and possibly see whoever it was in the window.

While I'd agreed to tour the grounds for recon purposes, I began to regret it as the minutes stretched onward.

I honestly felt like I'd been paired with a far less entertaining and endearing version of Tolkien as Sakharine wanted to point out nearly every damn flower and shrub as we strolled along.

At least he's got another hobby other than going after the Haddocks like a mad dog.

The grounds were still nice, I had to admit. Very expansive, nice biodiversity, and plenty of terrain variation.

I like that boulder, that is a nice boulder.

My fears from earlier, where I'd worried he would expect me to offer botany facts or feign interest in his prattling, proved themselves unfounded.

Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have been able to get a word in edgewise. This man liked to talk, and yet none of it was substantial.

I've sat through statistics lectures more enlightening than this.

Something dawned on me, however, as we grew closer to dusk.

Perhaps Sakharine didn't really have any interest in talking to me either, but was instead stalling for time.

He did well, I had to admit.

The sun neared the treetops on the horizon, turning the world a brilliant orange and gold. Hints of lavender had started to grace the sky as stormclouds marched in, serving as a not-so-silent warning of the incoming storm.

A sudden, seemingly innocent chuckle from Sakharine made me stop and look at him.

"My, I did not realize how late it was getting. Forgive me."

No. And you knew damn well what you were doing.

Just take the bait. Keep up the charade for a little longer.

Do we have to? This masking is killing me, I can't feign interest and care for much longer.

"Oh, don't mention it!" I said with a smile, waving him off. "These grounds are truly impressive, and I can imagine they will be even grander once you are able to properly care for them."

Sakharine stood taller again, lifting his chin.

I'm laying it on thicker than cold syrup and you're still buying it? Damn, you got a praise kink for sure.

"You are most kind. But let me not keep you, as these roads can be terribly dangerous after dark."

There it is. Subtle but poisonous seeds planted under the guise of false care to make me more susceptible to roll over and show my belly.

Well guess what, bitch?

I'm not a dog.

I'm a motherfuckin' cat.

I followed behind him as he led us back to the manor and up the once beautiful steps.

I do appreciate the moss and ivy though. Very parkitecture of you.

The inside was just as dilapidated and decrepit as the exterior, though the warm glow of the dying sun hinted at its former glory. The dust motes floating through sunbeams brought a sense of peace to me and I paused to watch them as pleasant memories flickered through my mind.

Back when I was younger and stayed at my grandmother's house, I always loved smacking the bedcovers and watching the little dust flecks spiral up in the sunbeams. Then I'd try to catch as many as I could, playing the same pointless yet entertaining game over and over.

Back when we still played outside and the internet was still in its early days, and social media wasn't even a big thing shy of MySpace and Facebook.

Simpler times.

Better times.

Focus. Be nostalgic later.

Following Sakharine down the hall, memories of the early 2000s trickling through my head despite by half-hearted attempts to stop them, I found the old manor even smelled somewhat like an old grandma's house; mothballs, musty cushions, old wallpaper, burnt dust from radiators, faint hints of past meals, and the ghost of old perfume and cologne.

This rotting old skeleton held none of the nostalgic charm, however.

Just broken dreams and unsettled scores.

And probably mold.

Definitely mold.

This old dump would give a termite inspector a heart attack. Probably has asbestos too.

"It will be grand once I've finally restored it, of course," Sakharine said. "Of course, restoration would be easier if those Haddocks hadn't been so incompetent in the upkeep."

At least we agree on something.

While I liked Haddock overall as a character, the fact was the ship under Allan was far safer. At least as far as who commanded her. Haddock was a liability as a captain, his judgement far from trustworthy, and I couldn't imagine it took a lot for even non-criminal crewmen to pick up a grudge or two.

Hell, I was a petty bitch.

One bottle thrown at me in a drunken fit and I'd rethink my loyalty too. I was very loyal when a bond was formed, sure, but forming that bond wasn't an easy thing. I certainly wasn't loyal to anyone who emotionally, physically, or verbally abused me.

So Sakharine, you better watch yourself. Moment you start getting too condescending, your ass is done.

"It's still got good bones," I said as we finally entered the main room of the Unicorn.

Dustcovers draped over furniture and showcase alike, hiding most it it from sight. A tall lump here, wide one here, and I half wondered if one of the sailors would jumpscare me from beneath one like some horror game.

The only thing not covered was the Unicorn itself, of course, which sat pretty in a sunbeam in the only uncovered glass case.

"Thank you, my dear."

Call me dear one more time and I'll gore you like one.

I didn't reply, turning around and scanning the shadows of the room for any lingering shapes.

I know you're here, Allan.

And that you brought friends.

Which friends, I know not.

But I know they're here.

I turned to the model ship.

And I'm gonna draw you out.

Time to ham it up before I drop the bomb.

Because if I had to suffer Sakharine's antics, then he'd have to suffer mine.

"Woah!" I breathed, finally acknowledging the Unicorn. "An exact replica." I jogged over, deliberately ignoring the way Nestor moved to block the other door. "Guess that old myth about three sons and three Unicorns was right."

"You certainly know a lot about a supposedly buried myth known only to a select few."

I turned to face him. "Funny, ain't it?" I asked, dropping the innocent façade and shooting him a grin.

His eyes narrowed, the friendly if not uninterested look sharpening into suspicion and even slight anger. "What are you playing at?"

"Playin' at? I ain't the one who plotted a trap for someone random in the marketplace 'cause they said a few odd things." I looked around. "So, where are they?"

"Where are who?"

"The sailors. I know they're here."

Sakharine's eyes widened. "I took you for dense, but it seems I overestimated you," he scoffed, the previous friendly facade crumbling immediately. "You knew this was a trap, where hardened criminals would be waiting to ambush you, and yet you still came? What possessed you to make such a foolhardy move?"

"It's called curiosity."

"Some might call it stupidity," came a familiar voice from the door.

There's the bitch.

I immediately moved around to the back of a nearby chair, putting it between me and the four men that walked in; Neil, Tom, Hobbs, and of course... Allan.

"Heh, long time no see, fellas," I greeted, leaning on the back of the chair and giving them a lazy, two-fingered salute.

Neil jerked his chin up in greeting, waving at me with a grin. Tom sighed, shaking his head with a degree of disappointment, but still offered a small smile and lazy salute as well. Guess there were no hard feelings from the almost-boxing match. Hobbs looked less thrilled to see me, twisting his wrist back and forth as he glared daggers in my direction.

Allan looked me over, crossing his arms. "See that spirit is still intact."

"Takes more than a little scuffle to scare me, mate."

"Wouldn't talk so tough, girlie," Hobbs growled, hand inching towards his blade. "Your buddy isn't 'round to save you this time."

"Bit insulted you think I need savin'," I retorted. "Kicked your ass mighty well this mornin'. How's that wrist of yers doin', mate?"

"Don't make me cut that smug grin off your face."

"Fight me."

"Not shocked to see us at all?" Allan asked, grabbing the back of Hobbs' collar as the stabby man started for me.

"Don't reckon so. Also, sorry about Trevor zappin' you."

Allan yanked Hobbs behind him where Neil trapped him in a headlock. "Oh don't worry. You can make it up to me by explainin' how the hell he did that."

I held his gaze. "I think you and I both know how the hell he did that."

"Excuse me," Sakharine interrupted. "Am I hearing her correctly? You had a fight at the docks?"

Allan shrugged. "Didn't come up."

"You hotheaded, brainless fool," Sakharine seethed. "You jeopardized my whole plan because you couldn't control your men? Allan, you should know better than to test my patience-"

"Hey!" I barked. "Leave 'em alone. Besides, it was good practice."

The men gave me weird but curious looks at my outburst, but Allan seemed almost smug at my apparent loyalty.

I'll bet you are, ya self-servin' con artist.

"You do not get to make demands of me," Sakharine snapped, icy eyes returning to me.

"I'm not the one who wants something from you," I retorted, no playful humor in my tone now.

"I want nothing from you."

Liar.

"Not even answers?" I taunted. "About how I know of your precious ancestor and his feud with Haddock?"

Sakharine's eyes widened. "You know about that?"

You don't have to be Tintin to figure out it was somewhat personal based on how much you were rambling about it.

"Damn straight I do. Same way I knew about these jokers bein' 'ere."

"Why come 'ere, then?" Allan asked. "Like you said, curiosity killed the cat."

"Mhm. And, like you said, satisfaction brought her back."

He looked me up and down. "Indeed it did."

Sakharine threw him an annoyed look. "Are you two quite finished?" he snapped.

This motherfucker.

"Hey man, where's your sense of humor?" I asked, leaning on the back of the chair again. "A little banter makes a fight fun!"

"This is no fight, as you are far outnumbered." He pointed the cane at me. "If you were sensible you'd be begging for your life, you meddlesome insect."

I didn't miss Tom's look of anger as he took a step in my direction, nor did I miss the way his hateful gaze stayed trained on Sakharine. He shot me a questioning glance, then stepped closer again when I shrugged in acceptance. He put himself between Sakharine and me, albeit in an off-center manner, and turned his back to me.

He's willing to knock my lights out, but also is protective? Well, guess if I need anyone to take me down I can bet on Tom only using the minimum force necessary.

"This how you get people to your team? Venomous threats of bodily harm?" I asked Sakharine. I shook my head in disappointment, rolling my eyes. "What a way to run a railroad."

"Do not test me, woman," Sakharine warned, slamming the cane on the floor. The sharp sound echoed around the room. "One word from me and these men would tear you apart."

Neil and to my surprise Hobbs both gave each other disbelieving and irked looks.

Guess all these men would be "safe" to take me out.

"Oh I'm sure they could." I gave him a falsely sweet smile. "But not under your orders. You got the money, and the status, but Allan?" I gestured at him. "He's got the backin' of the men. They follow him, not you."

Allan raised a brow at me but otherwise didn't comment.

"You are playing a dangerous game, my dear," Sakharine threatened, giving me a condescending smile.

"Ain'tchyer 'dear'," I snapped as I straightened and gripped the back of the chair. "Like that has got to go. I like a little less arrogance and foppishness from my men."

"And I prefer my women with more refinement, grace, and femininity. Who do not run around masquerading as a boy getting into scraps."

I lifted my chin and beckoned him forward with a finger. "Come a little closer and I'll show you just how much refined grace I got when I expertly shove my boot so far up your ass you'll taste leather."

Neil and Hobbs both snickered, Neil giving me a nod of approval as Hobbs looked to be fighting down a smile. Tom looked at me with a mix of surprise and amusement, then glanced at Allan.

As for that man...

Well he looked more satisfied at Sakharine's discomfort than my comment itself.

Trouble in paradise, huh? Good, cause I don't think I could pretend to like this self-important twatwaffle to appease Allan.

"Enough," Sakharine snapped, eye starting to twitch.

"Sorry mate," I apologized, not meaning a word of it as I raised my hands. "You make it just so easy."

The lights flickered above us, startling everyone, before they went dark.

Trevor, no doubt.

At least he's good for something.

"All that money and you can't invest in proper wirin'?" I joked pointing up with one finger and drawing circles.

"The wiring is perfectly adequate."

"For a haunted mansion maybe. Or is lettin' this place fall into disrepair a part of your grand plan of revenge against the Haddock's? Stealin' his ship and buyin' off his crew ain't enough, you gotta come for the man's house too."

I had the full attention of all the men now, eyes wide and laser focused in.

Couldn't blame them, I was definitely not supposed to know any of that.

"Knowledge is a dangerous weapon," Sakharine said, voice like ice. "And you wield it with the same flippancy as a child with a toy sword. Take care not to land yourself in deeper trouble lest I mark you as a loose end."

"Ah!" I exclaimed, hands on my hips. "So that's the game, eh?" I shrugged. "Hope you got insurance."

"Why?"

"This."

Grabbing the chair in front of me, I threw it through the nearest window and launched myself after it.

"You common street rat!" Sakharine screeched as I jumped through.

Thanks for the soundtrack! I thought as One Jump Ahead from Aladdin started playing in my head.

At least I was on the first floor so it didn't hurt as much when I landed, but I still dove into a parachute roll to save my knees at least a little bit.

"Catch her!"

Standing, I turned and bowed at the men assembled by the window. Neil and Tom jumped through after me, forcing me to flee, but not before I caught Allan's half grin of amusement as he slowly clapped.

The urgency from earlier wasn't as strong, as we both knew now that even if I escaped I'd just come back.

But for now, the chase was on.

#karaboudjan #tintin 2011 #allan thompson #oc_shadow #anachronism fic #tom karaboudjan #neil karaboudjan #hobbs karaboudjan #the adventures of tintin #ivan ivanovitch sakharine

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umbracirrus · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday!! 💛

Not much to say here! Been doing some Oblivion writing this week for the second chapter of With light comes shadow :)

I've also been trying to get back into my Skyrim hold symbol cross stitching seeming as the light is a bit better to work with but there's nothing substantial to share at this point!

Have also been tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter 💛

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“Well then,” the annoyance muttered, looking between the locked cell door and the open passageway leading away from the cell. “He’s given us free passage to leave, so- H-Hey, wait! Where are you going?!”

Drissa certainly didn’t care for any of her now former cellmate’s ramblings, and made her way through the passageway to get out of the cell. Perhaps Azura had been looking over her that day, and provided her with the opportunity to change her fate and prove her innocence. And of course, now that she was free...

With a deep breath, she tugged at the irons about her wrists, and watched as the chain between them simply shattered. Just as she had expected – they were so badly maintained, all it took was a little muscle to get them off. Why that idiot she had been locked up with went through all the hassle of picking the lock of his own was madness.

“And how in Oblivion did you do that?!”

Her eyes darted to her side as she walked, and she let out a quiet scoff when she saw that he was trying to keep up with her. “Any idiot would have noticed that they were falling apart. Now go away.”

"There's only one way out, you know… I think we're stuck together, at least until we're out of here if we've got to 'stay out of their way'," he quickly remarked, making her scowl as she slowed her pace. She begrudgingly had to admit that he had a point about that – she didn't want to be given a free pass to escape prison on the Emperor's behest just to get herself killed for getting too close to him and his bodyguards. "But I definitely understand the desire to get out of here. This place sends shivers up my spine..."

What very quickly became clear was the fact that the thief seemed to hate silence. He was constantly chattering away, trying to make small talk, filling in any moment of quiet with his voice. It certainly didn't help that his voice carried, and the echoes would add to the irritation which had been building from the moment those guards had knocked on her door.

“You know, I don’t believe that I have introduced myself," he eventually mused, before letting out a quiet chuckle. He then quickly moved to in front of her, stopping her in her path. She couldn't have cared less about who he was, they were going to be parting ways the very second that they were out of there, so was quick to maneouvre around him. "Florian Livius is my name. And you are... It's Drissa, yes? I knew from the moment I first saw you that there was something familiar about you, and it's only now that I've been able to put my finger on it. You were on those posters! The new Grand Champion-“

Drissa stopped in her tracks then held her arm out in front of Florian, glaring in his direction as he continued to talk. “Shut up.”

"Oh. Is that a touchy subject? If so, then I won't-"

"No, shut up!"

Briskly, she jabbed her elbow into his ribs, making him hiss in pain, though it was otherwise effective in making him quieten down. She didn't care in the slightest if he wanted to blather on about him recognising her from posters, for they had probably already been torn down as a result of her arrest – what she did care about was that they had caught up to the Emperor.

#meg has done some writing #oblivion fanfiction #tes iv fanfiction #tes iv: oblivion #hok oc florian #hok oc drissa #fic - with light comes shadow

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negentropies · 2 years ago

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hate being a hardcore plotter with terminal writer brain because i can't even fucking like something without picking it apart like a rotisserie chicken carcass and trying to fix all the weird holes in the plot that won't let me sleep at night

so anyway, heres a bullet point essay on my thoughts on the bhaal plot bc it doesnt make any fucking sense and its been driving me insane and patch 5 was just the final nail in the coffin

so bhaal's motivations are . muddy. in the case of most durges, it seems he crafted durge as his most perfect champion, let them get a little bit of life experience, and then led them to the bhaal temple where they became its leader with the intent of ???? murdering lots of people and getting more followers ?? i guess ???? omnicide only really became a possibility after they hatched the elder brain plot with gortash, but they were very much already a cult leader by then. regardless, we establish that as of ~15 years before the start of bg3, bhaal wants to use the brain to murder everyone in the world. HOWEVER. if you just so happen to be an oathbreaker paladin durge and face sarevok and become an unholy assassin, you get this dialogue:

this suggests that bhaal's goal is to walk the planes again? which doesnt seem like it would have anything to do with omniciding the world, since gods get their power from the number and fervor of their worshipers. as i see it (ty moth) his goals seem to be as follows: expand his divine portfolio and worshiper base to obtain greater divine status -> reclaim his divinity and re-ascend to full godhood -> rebuild his church into something more coherent and structured -> walk the planes again -> fuck with bane and myrkul

if the absolute plot succeeds and durge takes control of the absolute in bhaal's name, i see no reason why he'd rid himself of a massive new worshiper base, since followers of an exarch (durge in this case) also count as followers of an exarch's god (bhaal). if anything, it would make more sense for bhaal to EXPECT the absolute plot to fail. this way he fucks with myrkul and bane and gets rid of their chosen as well as substantial chunks of their followers.

like yeah, sure, having the entire absolute cult under his control would be cool. it'd probably make him a powerful enough deity to get him out from under bane's yoke once and for all. but it's also worth noting that bhaal hates bane SO fucking much. bane poached his servant loviatar to take her as his consort and then there was the Gortash Situation, so that hatred could mean he'd lose sight of that power and make it so he'd be happy if the elder brain plot collapsed, as long as it meant he could make bane look stupid or undermine him in the process.

this brings me to the new patch 5 epilogue, which inspired me to write down my ramblings in the first place. if you either lose to orin in the duel or you embrace bhaal, then destroy the elder brain, you become this urge-crazed, twitching murderer good for nothing except crashing parties and siring more bhaalspawn. which like . doesn't make sense to me? it's outright stated that durge becomes nothing but a vessel for bhaal. bhaal has been established as extremely patient and more than capable of cooking up plots that could span centuries (see: baldur's gate 1 and 2), so i don't know why he wouldn't just use his newfound puppet bhaalspawn as a mortal avatar to restore his church and facilitate his return to power in a faerûn where myrkul (bane also, but less so) had to take a step back to recoup.

the characterization of bhaal and pre-lobotomy durge makes me a little confused in general. gortash frequently talks about how intelligent durge was and how their strength came in their intense self-control, and in the fact that bhaal let them pick their battles. going off of this, i expected durge to be kind of a stick in the mud compared to the other bhaalists, and we get SOME of that? there's a journal entry you can find from durge to orin where durge insults her for "posing [her] corpse-dollies" instead of just killing and being done with it. however, from the flashbacks and other conversations with the bhaalists we get, our vivisection-loving cannibalistic necrophiliac doesn't really have a leg to stand on here. it really seems like the larian writers had two separate, incongruous visions for durge and tried to mesh them together to limited success

now can we talk about sarevok. can we talk about sarevok? can we talk about how utterly batshit insane it is that fucking SAREVOK, who literally attempted to usurp bhaal to become the new lord of murder, would have gotten so much power and favor from his father? it's clear from durge's internal narration that they hate sarevok's guts. they straight up get inspiration for killing him. so... why did durge ever answer to him? why did bhaal let his perfect clone and champion into the hands of a son he hates and who tried to usurp him?

which all leads me to my conclusion that the baldur's gate temple of bhaal is, in fact, a heretical sect. and more importantly, that durge was led to it with the intent that after they'd exhausted the temple's use, they would off sarevok once and for all, gut the temple completely, and rebuild something new and worthy of their father from the ashes.

everyone at the bhaal temple is interested pretty much exclusively in the ritualistic aspects of murder, while in contrast, durge is (stated to be) more interested in efficiency and (apparently?) restoring their father to power and helping him walk the physical planes once more. again, this is all incongruous with other aspects of their characterization, but i'm going to chalk that up to messy writing. this would also track with durge being raised outside of the bhaal temple, ensuring that no matter what, bhaal would get to them before the temple did. sceleritas fel in particular is shown to be loyal to durge and bhaal exclusively, while not caring for orin or sarevok. the pieces are all here for a religious schism that just . never happens

so, if we pick up some of what larian is putting down and ignoring the rest, a possible version of events would be:

-> sarevok the attempted usurper establishes the temple of bhaal in baldur's gate as a niche, heretical sect focused exclusively on ritualistic murder, with no intention of expanding bhaal's portfolio beyond that

-> bhaal crafts durge, lets them form an identity outside the temple, then brings them in to lead, use, and subsequently destroy the baldur's gate bhaalists

-> durge and gortash hatch the elder brain plot. no matter if it succeeds or fails, bhaal will still win one way or another, whether it be getting a new legion of followers through his exarch or by crippling myrkul and sticking it to bane

-> orin (and probably sarevok) misunderstands bhaal's edicts, interpreting them as him wanting to use the brain to murder everyone in the world. orin fucks everything up when she lobotomizes durge but tbh, that still doesn't really matter. either she dies and bhaal gets rid of a heretical and unstable spawn or she becomes his puppet, just like durge should have in their bad ending

going off bhaal's characterization for the previous games, he is fundamentally a patient plotter with lots of foresight and also immense rizz. omnicide via elder brain is like . the stupidest scenario for him when there is so many other different ways to take this. where is bhaal sending in his perfect murder catholic spawn into a den of murder pagans !! where is the bhaalist religious schism !!!!!

thank u for coming to my ted talk

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #i guess #LARIAN !!!! LARIAN WHEN I CATCH YOU !!!!!!#.txt

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